


The Song in the Silence (Ineffably Yours IV)

by SecondHandNews



Series: Ineffably Yours [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst Throughout, Barnaby is fine, Celestial Biscuit Club, Closure, Crowley’s Plants (Good Omens), Dark, Domestic Fluff, Doomsday, Drama, End of the World, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Heaven, Hell, Humour, Ineffable Idiots, Love, M/M, Rapture, Rating May Change, Revenge, Romance, Slice of Life, Soulmates, The Bentley (Good Omens) - Freeform, The really big one, chosen family, ineffable husbands, much angst, parallel timelines, tribulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondHandNews/pseuds/SecondHandNews
Summary: The forces of heaven and hell have arrived on Earth to do battle for the final time as the world as humanity knows it begins to die.Meanwhile, an angel and a demon fight desperately to save the ones they love and the better world they have so carefully dreamed into being.Angels and demons. Archangels and the fallen. Humans and gods. They must all work together in the desperate race to save what truly matters at the end of everything: home.*This is the final instalment of the Ineffably Yours main story and I’m so excited to share it with you.You can find the rest of the series here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1394677
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffably Yours [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1394677
Comments: 226
Kudos: 48





	1. Invictus

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, I hope you're all well and welcome to Part IV of Ineffably Yours. This will be the last part of the main story (though an ongoing short story collection will come after) and, as you might be able to tell, we're ramping up for the ending.
> 
> I wanted to put today's author note before the chapter just to note that I know some of you may be feeling like you want to read something fluffy in light of everything that's going on and this isn't the fluffiest chapter. If you want to hold off on reading for a few days then it'll be here waiting for you whenever you're ready.
> 
> To all my US angels and demons, please know I'm sending you all the love and support I can through a screen. I have everything crossed for you and please know this little corner of the internet will always be an inclusive and safe space, and if any of you want to add me on social media please just let me know and I can send you my usernames.
> 
> Before you read, I would strongly recommend reading the little one shot I posted last week (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834827). It's super short (less than 1500 words) but it ties in heavily with today's chapter.
> 
> I had the idea for this chapter over a year ago and I've been waiting (im)patiently to write it ever since. I don't let myself write out of sync, which is such a stupidly frustrating condition I gave myself, so it was the biggest relief to finally be able to sit down and write it. I really hope you enjoy it, it might be the chapter I'm most proud of. I sent my mum an early copy when I finished writing it last week and she said it's her favourite Ineffably Yours chapter so that's the best feedback I could ask for 🥰.
> 
> The chapter songs are on the new Part IV playlist I've set up here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BTpd6UhHNJpQzRliXZlZD. Organs is such a precious song to me so I hope you like it <3\. I think it's such a perfect blend of dismay and reflection but eternal hope that reminds me of the mood I try to create with Ineffably Yours.
> 
> Anyway, take care of yourselves and I'll be back with chapter two next Wednesday. It's really lovely to be back, I've missed you all <3

Crowley opened his eyes to find himself alone in the dark.

He reached out a hand, groaning as pain shuddered through his joints. He scrabbled at the ground below him. It was damp and cold, jagged and uneven beneath his palm. He felt tired, so deeply weary to his core that if he could curl into himself and sleep for a decade it would only begin to restore him.

_Aziraphale._

He sat bolt upright, a searing stab jolting down his spine as he forced himself up. He called out the angel’s name, heard the sound die the moment it left his lips. No echo. No sound at all. He could form the word, push it free from his mouth but there was only silence.

He’d heard silence be referred to as deafening by enough writers over the years that it had become something of a cliche but he understood the sentiment. Silence could be deafening, or oppressive, and sometimes it could be a lifeline. In the place he found himself in that moment, though, silence was nothing at all.

The demon clambered to his feet, ducking his head as if he might be too tall for the space he found himself in. He met no resistance, though looking up did nothing to tell him anything more about that place. No light, no sound, no warmth. An absence of any sensory clues.

A void.

_Aziraphale._

He tried calling out for the angel again. Nothing. He took a pace forward, arms held out in front of him as if he might collide with danger with each step. Crowley had seen darkness, had existed in it for those years he spent in hell’s underbelly, pursued by that whispering evil, but true darkness, the absolute absence of light, he was beginning to understand that was something else entirely.

_What happened?_

He took another step, wracked his tired brain for a memory of his last moment with the angel. He felt foggy, like he was trying to snatch thoughts from a moving target he couldn’t quite grasp. There were nothing but snapshots in his mind, blurry tableaus that felt as though he had experienced them at some vague point in history. Shadows. Wet grass. A halo of light reflecting from the pavement. Screaming. Footsteps. Then a heavy weight against him and the thudding fear in his chest of being utterly powerless for the first time in his life.

_Then, this._

Slowly, with the insidious creeping feeling that something was very, very wrong, Crowley was struck by a chilling realisation.

_I’ve been here before._

_Just for a second, for the moment in between worlds._

He felt his heart pound, skin prickling against a cool sweat that bloomed on his brow, on the back of his neck, at the base of his spine. He had stood in this dark place once before, where there was an absence of everything: no sound, no light, nothing at all.

_Angel? Why didn’t you take me with you? Please don’t leave me here._

A silver light bloomed suddenly from up above, cutting through the demon’s panic as it began to spread through his chest, and Crowley fell to his knees, arms crossing in front of his eyes to protect them from the brightness. He blinked against his forearms, tested his eyes against the pocket of darkness he had created and then, after a moment, he looked up.

A thousand pinpricks dotted the sky above. Ten thousand. A million. Too many to comprehend, each one glittering like a jewel thrown into the heavens, shining there only for him, a private light show from the stars he had helped to create.

_Am I in heaven?_

The demon looked down, found no light cast on the ground from the stars above. It had already died by the time it reached him. He looked to one side and then the other. Nothing. The only light came from above, and then Crowley realised that no, he wasn’t in heaven, but perhaps he was somewhere better.

 _Mother_? he whispered, though the word bore no sound outside of his own mind. _Are you here? Have I come back to you?_

They were the myths that heaven’s young angels told with secretive smiles, that angels who served Her well would be returned to Her when their work was done. They would live out forever in the stars, watching down on everything that would come to pass, spending eternity by Her side. Stories, really, nothing more. And yet, as Crowley turned in a slow circle and watched a galaxy of stars turn above his head, it felt a lot like coming back to something he had quietly yearned for for all of that time.

_Is our work done? Have we come home?_

Perhaps it had all led up to that single action of saving Mick. Perhaps Mick had been right, maybe the two of them had been put there to be his guardian angels. Had that one act of selflessness formed the sum of everything they had been created for? They had performed innumerable acts of kindness over the eons but was it that moment of stepping in and saving a singularly good soul at the risk of ending their own story that had truly mattered? Was selflessness alone not enough? Was it sacrifice, in the end, that had bought them passage to paradise?

_Is it over? Did we do it? Can we rest now? Where is Aziraphale, Mother? Please, take me to him._

Crowley looked up at the star that shone directly above him, head flung back in surrender as he watched fingers of light reach out and beckon him home. He felt warmth for the first time since he had woken up in that place, felt as though soft hands caressed his face, whispering words of forgiveness, of love.

He closed his eyes, felt the star’s heat soothe his aching bones, and in his mind he fell into a memory, watching it play out as if he was a spectator, quietly hidden in the wings.

He saw himself sitting next to Aziraphale at the bow of a sleek yacht, everything white and crisp and scrubbed to perfection. Their legs were threaded through the safety railings, feet kicking back and forth as the breeze whipped their hair up into tornados of red and white. They were laughing, smiles wide and eyes closed, the sort of carefree joy that came so rarely to them back then. Aziraphale held a half-empty bottle of champagne in one hand, raising it to his lips and sucking in a deep gulp of the drink before he passed it across. Crowley watched himself take it, mirroring Aziraphale’s movement as he took a drink and then rested the bottle between his thighs. The angel leaned in, murmured something that inspired a flush of pink in Crowley’s cheeks, and then he rested his head against the demon’s shoulder.

From his view in the distance, Crowley saw the aching smile on his past self’s face, remembered how lucky he felt in that moment, how he had been determined to remember everything he felt that day: the warmth of Aziraphale’s cheek against his neck, the sting of salt and wind against his skin, the pleasant feathering around the edges of his vision as he let the champagne dull his system just a little more than he usually would.

It was one of the memories he held closest, a place he would escape to when he needed to forget where he was, what he had done. Something, in the darkness of night, he would lose himself to the recollection of that happy day when, for a few blissful hours, there was nothing but the two of them and the horizon rising up to meet them.

Crowley opened his eyes and the memory ended, leaving behind an echo of happiness in its wake. He turned his attention to the next star, a heavy white ball that seemed at once so close he could touch it yet too far away to comprehend. From where he stood it was a teardrop of light, but perhaps from another angle it was a behemoth. He looked from star to star, from golden light to silver, from the memories that glittered to those that served as his constants, steady and unwavering. He let the light of every star wash over him and then he closed his eyes and remembered.

He watched himself walk amongst the forests, delicate bells of snowdrops and musty balls of moss trailing in his wake, springing to life from his fingertips.

He watched himself sitting in Raphael’s office, cross-legged and relaxed, fingers working Lucifer’s long golden mane into neat plaits as the three of them set the world to rights behind the safety of a closed door, their voices blending into the same yearning again and again: if only, if only, if only.

He watched himself chase Lucifer through the stars, a seemingly endless game of hide and seek against a backdrop of light and dark. He found them, eventually, after the ethereal glow the Morningstar could never quite shake had given them away.

He watched himself, cool and scaled in serpentine-form, coil around the trees in Eden, marvelling at how they could remember him after all that time.

He watched that first stammered conversation between himself and Aziraphale, watched that small kindness, the first he had known in so many years, as the angel swallowed everything he had been taught to know about evil, and sheltered a demon from the first rain.

He watched the two of them stand before the Great Pyramid of Giza, brush fingertips at they sat for Da Vinci, curl into each other and dream of a better world in a rose-hazy guesthouse in Morocco. He watched them fight atop a clifftop in Australia, sing at the top of their lungs as the Bentley sped north out of London bound for another small adventure, share a cone of chips on Brighton’s pier, mourn at the gravesides of their friends.

Crowley stood in the darkness of the void of _after_ and watched chapter after chapter of his story spill out around him, until they was only a handful of stars in the sky he hadn’t explored. _What will be next,_ he wondered, as he turned to a bright little star in the distance?

It was a newer memory, one so recent it was crisp around the edges, as if it might have been happening for the first time there and then. He felt the comfort of the home he and Aziraphale lived in for too short a time, heard the angel’s soft voice breathing life into words another soul had dreamed of and written more than a century before. Crowley didn’t need the star’s reminder to remember that night. He thought of it in every moment he needed strength, in every shadow so dark it threatened to take another piece of him. As he had stood on stage in front of heaven and faced Gabriel’s judgement, he had remembered every word Aziraphale had told him, the lines the angel had begged him to hold close in case he ever needed to remember who he was.

Crowley opened his eyes, smiling, as the memory ended, and he looked up at every star that shone above him. _It’s me,_ he realised, lips falling open in wonder. _This is me. This is everything I wanted to hold onto. This is my life._

Was Aziraphale standing under his own canopy of memories, breathless with emotion, as he watched his own story unfold? Was this one final moment of standing with one foot in old life, Crowley wondered, before the skies opened and She welcomed him home for the final time? One last look back at who he was, at the memories he would leave behind in the world, before he joined hands with the one he loved and took one step forward into paradise? A heartbeat to reflect, to gaze at every moment of existence that had mattered to him, that had shaped who he was, it felt like the Almighty’s last gift before the beginning of everything else.

 _One more,_ Crowley thought. He smiled, reaching for one more little star, pink-tinged and hanging low in the sky. His fingertips brushed its surface and he jumped, shocked that it was right there in front of him, close enough to touch. He closed his hand gently around its warmth and the star disappeared beneath his touch, bursting into a cloud of black and then the light went out like a shattered bulb. Crowley shrank back, his other hand gripping his wrist as if his touch was responsible for the death of that light. What memory had it contained? He didn’t know. It was gone. He looked back at the network of stars and from somewhere far above, or perhaps just a breath away, another light went out.

Another went out.

And another.

Where the sky had been covered in pinpricks of light, there was now a cluster of darkness. Another two lights went out.

Before Crowley could comprehend what was happening the star directly above him, the first he had explored, went out. It had been the first memory he had fallen into after the stars lit up. What had it been? A moment with Aziraphale, he remembered, drinking…red wine? No. Champagne. It was champagne. And they were…where had they been? The demon held his breath, closing his eyes as he tried to claw the memory back. Fragments of it danced before his eyes: the taste of salt on his fingertips, Aziraphale’s hair against his cheek. The rest was gone.

He took a step back, hands covering his mouth in horror as a new star burst open with every passing second, a cloud of darkness rising up as the light, and the memory, died forever. Another, and the angel’s bookshop was gone from memory, leaving behind nothing but a faint glow of nights spent in a place that felt safe. The next one that died was that heady, rich myrrh and vanilla scent that turned his head whenever he caught it. He tried to snatch them back, tried to remember each of those precious moments but they were blurred, the colours running into one like a painting carelessly splashed with water.

He reached out for one of the stars, curved his hands around it as tightly as he could without touching it, as if there might be a way to protect it. He fell back into the memory of Aziraphale and himself laying beneath the sheets in Morocco, making promises to each other that it would take them nearly three hundred years to keep.

 _Don’t take it,_ he begged, lips mouthing the words uselessly into the silence. _Please, let me keep this._ _Please don’t take it from me._

The star burst, black ashes whipping through his fingers as the memory slowly, excruciatingly disappeared from his mind.

 _No_ , he murmured, reaching out to try and catch the ashes as they were pulled up into the darkness, as if holding them close might restore the memory that was already gone.

 _What was it? Where were we? I remember…I remember the air smelled of… No, no, what was it? Please._ Crowley fell to his knees, eyes roving desperately at the pinpricks of light that burst one after the other, as if his life was fading away before him, as if every inch of him that had been imprinted on the world was draining away until there would be no trace of him at all.

He felt wetness under his eyes, tears that were whisked away the moment he cried them. Each sob that escaped his throat was silent, as if he already ceased to exist, as if he was already gone. He rocked forward, hands pressed to his eyes, crying silently against the dirt as he hid from the lights of his life that were dying one by one.

He crawled forwards, hands and knees sinking into the earth below him, feeling his way through the darkness as he tried to remember anything. He remembered Paris: near escapes and long nights and dances he had stood awkwardly on the periphery of. But then those nights slipped away, ash on the wind, and Crowley didn’t even realise the memories were missing any more.

He remembered plants. Green things. They were precious to him. The trees, he sought comfort in them, he hid amongst them, they kept him safe. Why were they so important to him? He knew there was a reason, there had to be, but it was gone. Then the name of the first rose he had created was gone. And then there were no more flowers in Crowley’s mind. No blades of grass. No fallen leaves or rebellious houseplants. No trees.

_Mother…_

The word echoed in the spaces left in Crowley’s mind. It was futile. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t waiting for him. Nobody was. He wasn’t waiting for paradise. He was somewhere else, he was somewhere they had sent him. He hadn’t fulfilled his purpose. He wasn’t at peace. He wasn’t waiting for Aziraphale to reach out for him. He was alone. He was gone. He wasn’t good, he wasn’t even evil. He wasn’t anything any more.

 _Aziraphale_ , he breathed, chest heaving as he crawled along that endless path that led further and further into darkness, _where are you? Angel? Please don’t leave me here. Please don’t let me die alone._

He felt something. For the first time since he had opened his eyes in that void his fingertips touched something real. Something tangible. Something that didn’t die underneath his touch. Crowley gasped, his breath coming in ragged sighs as he pressed his fingers against the shape in front of him, feeling it out as if it might form a picture in his mind. He worked his way up the sides of the shape, it was cool but it yielded under his touch, something that might have been warm once. His fingers curled around a pair of frozen lips and Crowley recoiled with a soundless whimper.

_No. No, no. Please, no. Where am I?_

He crawled away, hands catching against sharp rocks, knees bloody and torn as he fled. _What is this place? Why am I…why am I here?_ Above him, another star died, taking with it the memory of the first time Aziraphale told him he loved him. Another: the first time they had eaten oysters together. And another: the first time Raphael had told him he had the soul of a dreamer.

His shoulder collided with something in the darkness and Crowley felt a sudden dead weight against his arm. He pushed it off with a desperate moan, felt the crepe-paper skin of an eyelid against the side of his hand as the body fell to the ground.

He knew blond hair and the sweetest smile, warm hands and a soft voice. He knew love, or the idea of it, but…who? He needed to remember, he knew that. He couldn’t forget him. How could he forget him? He loved him. He knew he did. He was sure he did. _I love you,_ he said to nobody, _I’m sorry, I'm sorry I don’t… I don’t remember you_. He stopped moving then, balling his hands into fists and pressing them tightly against his eyelids. The sound of the soft voice was gone. His hair…it was…what colour was it? Blue eyes. He remembered blue eyes. Or were they grey?

_Aziraphale. I know you. I know your name. Aziraphale. I won’t forget._

His name. He knew his name. If he could hold onto it he could find his way out. Above him, the sky was almost dark, the stars almost dead.

 _Aziraphale_. He whispered it into the silence. It didn’t make a sound but it didn’t matter. He held it in his mind again and again. _Aziraphale. Aziraphale. I can’t forget you_. He remembered the sensation of emptiness, of not belonging, of being wrong to his core. He remembered having nothing. And then he remembered the sky lighting up as Aziraphale, the one he loved, lit his sky with a thousand memories of goodness. _You did it once before. You lit my way when everything else was dark. Please. Aziraphale. Please light it again. Please show me the way out of here._

High up in the sky, two stars remained. One began to flicker, and then it died, taking a name with it.

 _No. Don’t go,_ Crowley moaned, head lolling from side to side as he gasped for breath, leaning back against a cluster of soft, dead shapes that had once walked freely through the heavens, white-winged and beautiful.

_I don’t know your name. I can’t remember your face. You’re gone._

_Why would you leave me here?_

Crowley reached back, felt a stiff feather graze his palm as he pushed himself away. _This is a graveyard. Please, I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to die._

_I’m sorry. Whatever I did. Please. Please don’t forget me. I’ll remember you. I know I will. Please, just give me time. Don’t leave me here._

They were gone from his memory. They might have been a ghost, something dreamed up to combat the darkness. Whoever they had been, they were gone, and Crowley was alone.

A single star was left, its memory already draining away. As it disappeared, its light snuffed out like thousands of others before it, Crowley salvaged nothing but a few last words that had been read to him once in a place that felt like home.

_I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul._

The memory was gone but the words remained. He had to remember them, he knew it. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know who had given them to him but those words were all that remained of his life.

He pulled himself to his feet, legs unsteady as he took one step and then another, and then he was staggering through the darkness, arms stretched out to protect himself from walls that didn’t exist. Feathers brushed his face as he pushed past the things that used to be angels, the sinners who had been sent there to die.

_I am the master of my fate._

He was running, feet slipping over damp rocks, arms braced to keep his balance. He whispered the words again and again like an anchor, as he ran and breathed and he waited, in the darkness, to come apart.

_I am the captain of my soul._

_A way out. There has to be a way out._

_I am the captain of my fate._

_No._ Crowley slowed, chest tight and a sting in his throat with every breath his took. _No. That’s not right._

_I am the master of my…I am the master of my soul._

_No. I am the master of… Captain of my fate. No. No, please. I am the… I am…_

He fell to the ground, head in his hands, mind spiralling from chaos into emptiness. That last memory. Gone. He was nothing. He had no past. No history. There were no stories of his life. No legacy that endured. Nobody left who knew him. He had been rubbed out, erased from the world. And still it turned, still the humans dreamed and loved and died. Without him. The world had never needed him. He had never meant anything. He was gone and nothing had changed. He had been taken apart piece by piece, chapter by chapter thrown into the fire until the ash was taken by the wind.

He raised a hand, let it fall against his chest, fingers creeping towards his heart. He let his palm rest there, felt the shuddering rise and fall of his body, the weak beat of his heart.

 _You’re still there,_ he murmured, _you’re still beating. I’m still here._

Anthony J. Crowley, fallen angel, emissary of hell, had always believed he would go out with style. In a blaze of glory. It would be a spectacle. The stuff of legend.

He took in another shallow breath, felt the weight of his chest bearing down on his lungs, and wondered how long it would take to die down there, alone in the darkness.

As his breath slowed, Crowley thought about his wings.

_Let me die like an angel._

He felt them unfurl and rise up above him, as if they might protect him from the end.

Crowley caught one of his feathers between his fingers. He smiled, taking in another breath. There wouldn’t be many left to take.

 _I was good,_ he whispered, closing his eyes.

And then came a tiny flicker in the distance, a single thread of golden light so delicate a single breath could snuff it out but so bright that Crowley felt the haze of it behind closed eyes.

The demon opened his eyes and the light moved closer. A star? He sat up, struggling for breath, eyes shifting in and out of focus as he watched that single point of hope get closer. It wasn’t strong but it didn’t need to be. It was bright, and it was there.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard a soft voice in the dark, the first sound he had heard in that place.

“It’s time.”

Crowley looked up at the figure who stood by his side, warm light raining down around them and shrouding them from view. He reached out to touch them, curled the end of a lock of golden hair around his fingers and felt something in his chest bloom back to life.

“Where are we going?” he asked, allowing them to help him up. He tried to catch a glimpse of their face but he couldn’t make it out, only snatches of bruised, scarred skin behind the light.

“To sleep,” they said, taking his hand. As their fingers touched his they took a step back, their light diminishing for a moment. When they spoke again their voice was barely a whisper and there something in it that felt so familiar Crowley could almost shape the memory in his mind. “You. You don’t belong here.”

“Who are you?” Crowley reached for them again but they stepped back, murmuring something too quiet for the demon to hear.

They held a golden spear in one hand and they leaned against it, catching their breath. A moment later they stood upright again, gesturing behind them with the spear. Their light lit the way and Crowley saw the path he had crawled down. Bodies. Hundreds of them. Dead-eyed and grey-skinned. Blood-stained feathers. Snapped wings. Red-throated.

“I’m a shepherd,” they said simply. “I come for them at the end. I take them where they need to go.”

Crowley paused, swallowing tightly as he fought for the memory. “No. You’re… Are you an angel?”

They shook their head and, in the shadows, Crowley thought he saw a sad smile on their face. “Death has his own angels. Come, it’s time to go.”

“Where are you taking me?” Crowley asked, looking past them to the places their light touched, as if he may find another path there, a path that might lead him out of that place.

They let out a soft exhale as they reached for Crowley’s hand. “Home.”

They walked, hand in hand, the demon and the shepherd, through the celestial graveyard that was the void. As they walked past each decaying angel, Crowley looked away, sobbing. _Why are they here? What did they do wrong? Who let them die like this, alone and afraid? Is this what will happen to me?_

As they walked through the darkness Crowley felt air return to his lungs, felt the smallest snatches of memory come back to him. The first was a name.

“Aziraphale.” He said it aloud, felt tears of relief escape him. Next to him, the shepherd turned their head, and Crowley felt their eyes on him. A moment passed, and then they looked away.

After they had walked for long enough that the soles of Crowley’s feet felt raw in his shoes, he learned to look straight ahead, to avoid letting his gaze dip low enough to see those broken wings. The shepherd stayed by his side, gripping his hand as if they were a parent leading a child back home.

Home. That was what they had said, wasn't it? They were taking him home. Back to…what was waiting for him? What lay beyond that place? Aziraphale. That was all he knew. Just a name. Just Aziraphale.

“Here,” the shepherd said, squeezing Crowley’s hand as they turned a corner and a light shone up ahead. It was white. Pure. No golden warmth like the light that shrouded the shepherd. No silver like Crowley found in the stars. It scared him, the intensity of it. He didn’t know what might wait on the other side. He didn’t know where home was. What home was. He felt the shepherd’s hand against his back, urging him forward. “Go.”

“What is it?” Crowley asked, hesitant. “What’s waiting for me? Should I…should I stay here, with you?”

“It’s not your time, little one.”

And then a memory, fully-formed, lit up in Crowley’s mind. He had stood next to them, next to the shepherd, in another place. They were good. They mattered. They were ready to make a change, a real change. They were ready to make things better. They had smiled at him. _It will be okay, little one_ , they had said.

“I…” Crowley staggered back, the weight of the memory leaving him breathless. “Who are you? What happened? What happened to you?”

“I lost myself many lifetimes ago.” They looked at Crowley then, really looked at him, and something about the way they gripped his hand as they stepped closer to the light told the demon that maybe they had begun to remember too. “I…I knew you once.”

“Yes.” Crowley nodded, voice cracking as he wrapped his hand around theirs. They felt so small. Too small. They had never been small before. _What did they do to you?_ “Yes. Yes, you did.”

“I’m sorry, little one, for failing you, for everything that happened because of me.”

Crowley pressed his forehead to theirs, losing himself to the sound of his own broken words. “Come with me.”

They shook their head, shrinking back from the light. When they spoke their voice was dull, as if that flicker of recognition had died out. “I have to stay here.”

“I’ll help you,” Crowley said quickly, brushing away tears as he reached for them again but they stepped back, holding the spear in front of their body to block him.

“I have to stay here,” they said again, voice unwavering.

“Please come with me.” His words were rushed, frantic, as he saw them begin to walk away. He tried to follow them, to grip hold of their arm and pull them back with him, but he couldn’t take a step towards them. He could walk away from them, back into the light, but he couldn’t follow them into the darkness. Finally, he called out in desperation. “We never forgot you. We remember.”

They paused, and Crowley saw their shoulders sag. They turned to him, looking back once over their shoulder before they disappeared back into the void. “There’s nothing to remember.”

“Lucifer?” Crowley called out.

His word echoed, unanswered, in the silence, and then the demon stepped into the light.


	2. I'll See Your Heart and I'll Raise You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How strange and how wonderful, what a privilege, to hear all the things your lover thinks about you in their heart.

Aziraphale had been pacing heaven’s halls, first by Raphael’s side and then alone, fists balled, tears slipping unnoticed from his eyes.

Raphael had peeled away after some hours, quietly laying a hand atop Aziraphale’s and promising they would be back soon, that they wanted to consult with another about Crowley’s whereabouts. Aziraphale hadn’t paid it much mind, the notion that Raphael had a confidante they would trust with such precious, dangerous information. There wasn’t space for that, wasn’t space for anything other than wondering how an angel might slip unnoticed into the bowels of hell in search of his soulmate.

There had been no happy reunion between the angel and archangel, no loving embrace, no hushed conversations about where he had been for all of those long months, about how he had found himself snatched back to heaven, of all places.

_It should have been the park. It was supposed to begin where it ended._

There would be time enough for questions and answers but until Crowley was found that was the only thought hurtling through his mind.

_Where is he? Is he safe? Is he hurt? Who took him? How will I find him? Mother, please, where is he? Please, don’t take him from me. Please. Take me instead. Wherever he is, take me._

The angel was alone when he heard a pained cry fill the air. There was the sound of something heavy clattering to the ground, another hopeless groan for breath, and he turned to find Crowley curled up on the ground, trying desperately to crawl towards him.

“Crowley!” He heard his own voice rise in relief above the sound of Crowley’s failing breathing. As his echo faded and gave way to the sound of laboured gasps, Aziraphale rushed to the demon’s side and fell to the ground beside him. “Crowley, it’s me. It’s me. I’m here. You’re okay, you’re okay. What happened? Where were you, my love? I’ll get help. Raphael? Raphael!”

“Aziraphale.” The word fell from Crowley’s lips as the demon smiled. His brow was slicked with sweat, hair clinging to his damp skin in licks of flame. His skin was frozen to the touch but as he spoke his angel’s name he looked the picture of perfect serenity.

Aziraphale let out a sob of happiness and relief and then Crowley’s body began to twitch, his eyes rolling back as his legs drummed helplessly against the ground. As Aziraphale reached for him, there was one last spasm and then the demon’s chest fell still.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, and then a moment later came a voice that he barely recognised as his own, louder and more urgent. “Crowley?”

He shook Crowley’s shoulder gently, as if he might wake him from a dream. His lips parted, and a slow, shallow breath rattled out from his throat. His mouth went slack and Aziraphale felt the demon go heavy against him.

“No,” the angel breathed. “No, no, Crowley. Please. Raphael? Raphael, I need you. Raphael!”

As he gathered Crowley’s still body in his arms, the angel did the only thing he could think to do, something he had sworn he would never do without Crowley’s permission. He held one hand against the demon’s heart and peered behind the veil, into the depths of his dying soul.

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**The void.**

Aziraphale opened his eyes in the darkness, jumping back as he felt the soft slip of a feather against his cheek. He could see the outline of wings hovering inches to the left on his face, arcing gracefully up into two black points, but beyond them was a wasteland of blackness. He reached both hands out in front of him, found they disappeared instantly into that void, which even his own divine light couldn’t touch.

“Crowley?” he whispered, sensing the demon’s presence nearby. “Crowley, where are we?”

No answer, of course. Aziraphale had stepped into a human’s heart once before but never another angel’s. Or a demon’s. Not that the distinction mattered now, if it ever had.

He knelt down, let his angelic glow light the demon’s face. Eyes closed, mouth half-open as he sucked in shuddering breath after shuddering breath, skin shining with sweat at the effort of holding on. He was dying.

“Crowley, it’s me. I found you. Please, hold on. Please, my love.” Aziraphale reached for his hands. Ice cold. He wrapped them in his own, belt low to press a kiss to the base of his thumb.

A shock of light came then in the distance, certain enough to see Aziraphale dropping Crowley’s hands to straighten up, take a step back into the shadows. _You’re an observer_ , he reminded himself. _You cannot change what has already come to pass._

The ethereal had grown used to time being on their side. They had all of it in the world, after all. But no man, no beast, no angel or demon or even a god with every moment of existence at their fingertips could change the events of the past. All the time in the world, yes, but only the time that was still left to play out. Time that had passed had already been etched into the fabric of the world, fixed and immovable. There was no changing the past, only the imprint it had left on the soul.

An angel stood in the shadow of the void, watching silently as a shrouded shepherd took Crowley’s hand and led him away from the darkness as they had led him into it once before.

***

**Islington, London.**

Aziraphale sat on a damp bench on the corner of a quiet square in London, staring up at the stars and waiting. They wouldn’t be long.

“So it is,” he murmured to nobody but the veil of memory, as he watched three figures round the corner, arm in arm and smiling brightly into the night.

He looked further down the path, wondered if he might find another figure crouched out of sight, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. _Could I stop them,_ he wondered, _could I tackle them to the ground before they have a chance to put these events in motion?_ He shook his head, scolding himself for such silliness. Of course he couldn’t. He hadn’t stepped into the past. He had stepped into Crowley’s memory of it. He would see no nighttime predator hidden amongst the trees because Crowley hadn’t seen it. He wouldn’t feel the pain in Mick’s chest as the knife was plunged into it because Crowley hadn’t felt it. He would only feel Crowley’s panic, and his personal memory of his own, as they had raced forward to do the only thing that made sense: to save Mick’s life.

 _I look so worried,_ he thought, watching his own face come into focus as they grew closer. He was smiling, yes, laughing and joking with the others, but his eyes were sad, his mouth tight, shoulders rigid, as if he was waiting for disaster. Perhaps that was the way he moved through the world, tense and closed and ready for that inevitable _something_ to destroy the happiness he had built.

 _Stop,_ he told himself, shaking his head and deviating to that most proper measure of displeasure: tutting. _You’re not here for yourself._

He stood up then, knew it was almost time.

Knowing what was going to happen did nothing to steel the angel for how sudden it had been, how quickly those events transpired. One after the other after the other in what felt like a heartbeat. In the moment the time had felt immeasurable, as if it all happened in both a second and a lifetime.

They ran, both of them, hands clasped over Mick’s heart, his good, kind heart, and then they were gone.

The memory ended and Aziraphale was thrust backwards but there was a second, a fraction of a second, where he saw two figures standing where an angel and a demon had just stood, a dog walker and a bookseller blinking in confusion as if they had just woken up after a very long sleep.

***

**Lambeth, London.**

Aziraphale followed two paces behind Crowley as the demon moved through London’s streets after the disastrous band rehearsal, guitar case slung over one shoulder and head angled down towards the pavement as he walked. Well, pounded might be a better word, his heavy footsteps kicking up streams of rainwater that splashed Aziraphale’s trouser cuffs. The angel tried to sidestep in the beginning, realised soon after that it didn’t matter much; trousers one wore in a memory weren’t likely to hold onto stains.

 _Idiot_.

_Stupid, stupid idiot. Can’t do anything, can you? You’ve had all that time to learn what to do. You’ve had weeks. What did you think was going to happen? You’re going to be humiliated up there. They’ll laugh at you, you know that, don’t you? You’ve buggered it up for yourself, you’ve buggered it up for Anthony. You’ll be a laughing stock. He’ll be a laughing stock. Why didn’t you just listen to Aziraphale? And now you have to tell him. Now he’ll know. He’ll know you failed. He won’t even have to tell you you’ve failed, you’ll see it on his face. You’ll disappoint him. Again. When are you going to stop letting him down?_

Crowley’s thoughts rolled over the demon’s shoulders and caught the wind, whipping around Aziraphale like a fog of self-disgust. Cold words that should have been spoken by an enemy, each one a poison dart that the demon shot into his own chest.

Aziraphale recoiled as they kept coming and coming, rising up out of the demon’s mind in thick waves of derision. _Is this how he thinks? Is this how he speaks to himself? Doesn’t he know he will never disappoint me? My love, you could never be a failure in my eyes._

The demon’s final thought hit Aziraphale like a barrage, left the angel standing on the wet pavement as Crowley walked away and humanity filed neatly around him as if he wasn’t there at all.

_This is why he always walked away from you. This is why he never wanted you. Keep going like this and he’ll leave you again. And it’ll be your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

***

**Mick’s allotment.**

Aziraphale watched with a soft smile on his lips as Crowley and Mick, in turn, said goodbye to a big golden dog and left the allotment, Mick swinging the heavy gate closed behind them. The dog trotted back through the rows of freshly planted seeds and lay down in the shade of an apple tree, eyes closed as he sunk merrily into a dreamland of squirrel chases and all the green beans he could eat.

The angel watched Crowley turn his attention back to Mick, listened to their conversation as the two of them ambled away from the allotment and back towards the city. He felt the loneliness in Crowley’s mind, fell into demon’s thoughts of family and trust and what it would be like to know that the ones you love will never leave you, not in your heart, at least.

_One day I’ll have that. One day I’ll have a family to love, to miss, to trust in and know that they will always come back._

Aziraphale swallowed tightly, wondered how long the demon had carried the desire to trust in others, how many centuries he had spent yearning for the safety of family. Was that why he had found himself so many human companions over the years, so many friends? Was that why he had been drawn to the rebels, the dreamers, those whose human souls shared the same beliefs as his own? Had he been searching for a family ever since the day he found himself in Eden?

_I always told him not to. I told him it was foolish, befriending humans. As time went by I told him it was dangerous. I told him he was risking them. Is that why he stopped looking for souls he could trust? Did I take that away from him? Did my own stupid, scared, cowardly words rob him of a hundred families he might have had?_

Aziraphale tugged himself back to the memory, listened to the quiet curiosity in Crowley’s voice as he asked Mick what it truly meant to protect the ones you love. He saw the man nod, reach out to squeeze Crowley’s shoulder as he said the words he had no idea would save his own life in just a few short months.

“That’s what family is, steering them through the good and the bad, doing whatever it takes to keep them safe.”

***

**St James’s Park.**

“Come on boy!” Crowley called, patting his thighs and grinning as Barnaby galloped up to him in the park, dodging his legs at the last minute and cantering past him in the other direction. Crowley laughed, turning to watch the dog run in a wide arc around a neat flowerbed, jumping over one corner and then rocketing back towards his owner, where he sat very nicely to await a well-deserved ear scratch.

For a moment, for one memory at least, the guilt and self-judgement and overwhelming feeling of inadequacy in Crowley’s mind was gone. For that moment it was simple: he was happy. He was truly, deeply happy, and somehow that was even harder for Aziraphale to bear.

_This is all he ever wanted and it’s nothing at all. A safe place to call home, somebody to love him, a walk in the park with a dog who doesn’t fear him. Such a little life, that’s all he ever dreamed of. And it was too much. He wanted nothing, and heaven told him it was too much._

***

**Crowley’s garden.**

_When you wake up everything will be as it always should have been. All of my darkness will be gone. You’ll be you. Just you. You’re enough, you always have been, you always will be, never forget that._

Aziraphale smiled as he heard the last words echo around Anthony’s mind before Crowley gently took the reins and left the dog walker sleeping in his own mind. _Did he know I was telling Zira the very same thing?_

The angel watched from his seat on the bench across the path, as Crowley and the memory of his own self stepped into their human corporations and reached for each other amongst the flowers of Crowley’s garden. He watched them embrace, felt their relief at being together, again, finally. He felt his own heart pound in his chest at the memory of that moment of pure joy, remembered the demon’s promise that, together, they would finish this once and for all, that they would save that world, their better world, that they would protect that place where every soul was free to dream.

*** ****

**Anthony’s flat.**

When Aziraphale opened his eyes again he was standing in Anthony’s little flat, watching his own fingers walk a pattern up and down Crowley’s forearm as the two of them lay together on the sofa, soaking up every moment of that single night they had managed to snatch from Zira and Anthony.

He listened to the memory of their conversation, marvelled at the lines Crowley had committed to memory, the things he had thought important enough to hold close in his heart. It was a strange thing, watching yourself speak words that you had forgotten you’d ever said. If Crowley hadn’t remembered the conversation, it would have been lost forever.

There were blurry moments, times where the memory was soft around the edges, where Crowley’s reply was a jumble of sounds rather than the words Aziraphale remembered him saying. _He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even remember his own words. But mine? He held onto mine. My words meant something to him._

Aziraphale knew it should have lifted his soul, the notion that Crowley had held onto his words and kept them locked in his heart. Instead, it filled him with despair. The words he had spoken to Crowley on that particular night had been kind. They had been reassuring, promises of freedom, of love winning out over hate. But he hadn’t always been kind to the demon. He had been cruel to him, once upon a time. No. Not once. Not just a handful of times, either. A hundred times. More. Had Crowley remembered those words too? The cowardice, the rejection, the endless promises of _not now, one day, not yet, I’m not ready, it’s too risky._

 _What will I find if I keep going back,_ Aziraphale wondered, as he watched his and Crowley’s past selves lean towards each other for a kiss, _what bruises have been forced onto his sweet soul? By heaven, by the world, by me? What scars have I left him with?_

***

**Lambeth, London. Seven days until the rapture.**

“Why have you brought me here, angel?”

Aziraphale watched from behind the chain link fence as Crowley turned and looked at him, the memory of him, and pushed his glasses back from his eyes as he took in the barren stretch of earth he had been presented with.

“So you can make something beautiful. One last time.”

Aziraphale remembered how he had felt on that night, how proud he was to be the one to give Crowley one more night of creation, how he hoped it would bring the demon some peace, finally, a chance to remember all the beauty he was capable of. What Aziraphale had never known, though, was the fear that underpinned all the joy that had swelled in the demon’s heart.

When Crowley had moved through the space on that night, transforming the ruined earth into a beautiful garden, Aziraphale had only seen the concentrated smile on the demon’s face, the relief as tree after flower after leaf bloomed into existence. Now, though, after stepping into Crowley’s memory, he saw a different story.

He saw a creator so scared of failure that he questioned every petal, scrutinised it for imperfections, wondered hopelessly if he would turn back and find his creations shrivelling back to the earth, dying the moment after he gave them life.

_They’ll know. They’ll know I’m evil. They’ll die. They won’t stay alive for me. They’ll be broken. They’ll be like me. They’ll grow wrong. The humans will hate them. They'll be ugly. They’ll fade away, they’ll rot, they’ll decay. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do this. I want to do this. I want to make something beautiful. Please, this is what I’ve dreamed of. Please don’t die, little ones. Please, be beautiful, be good enough. Please be everything I failed to be._

***

**The Repentance and Rehabilitation Ceremony, Heaven.**

“Confession is a small price to pay for eternal paradise.”

Aziraphale shuddered as Gabriel came into focus, eyes blazing with a deep violet rage, drool pooling in one corner of his lips. He was shaking with anger as he stared down, face the picture of righteous fury. It was almost as if he was staring through Crowley into Aziraphale’s own eyes, where the angel stood on the edge of the memory, a few feet behind Crowley on heaven’s stage.

He looked quickly to the left, found the memory of himself sitting next to Raphael in the crowd, teeth buried in his bottom lip, hand squeezed tightly in the archangel’s own fingers.

He would never forget how he had felt that day. That paralysing fear before he pushed his way through the crowd of braying angels and took his place by Crowley’s side, the place he knew he would stand in for the rest of his days.

_Please, just leave me, just leave me alone. Please, just let me live. I just want to live. Why won’t you leave us alone?_

Crowley’s thoughts rose up from the demon’s body, settled around the angel in a haze of quiet resignation. He had truly believed he was going to die, Aziraphale realised. He would have died up there in the name of what he believed in.

_Angel, I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough. I'm sorry I couldn’t be good. I’m sorry they didn’t want me. I tried. I really tried, I swear to you. But I can’t do what they say. I’m not like you, I’m not strong, I can’t be somebody else. I can’t do what you do. I can’t wait, I can’t bide my time. I can’t stand here and say that we’re wrong. I’m so tired, angel. I'm sorry I failed you._

Aziraphale watched as Crowley lowered his head, as he waited for whatever would come next.

 _No,_ the angel whispered, though in the world of memory the present had no voice. He took a step forward, looked out to the crowd and saw his own face twisted in fear. He knew this was the moment before everything changed, the last moment that Crowley would ever spend alone.

Though he had no real presence in Crowley’s memory, was nothing but a spectator, he found himself leaning close to the demon, pressing his forehead to his cheek before whispering softly to him. _You never failed me, my love. I’m sorry it took me so long to be brave._

Before he left for the next memory, Aziraphale looked back one more time and nodded to the memory of himself as he rose from his seat beside Raphael. _You can do it. You are so much braver than you ever knew._

***

**The Love Nest, Soho. Christmas Day.**

Crowley had always hated having a chair in the bedroom. He had said it was creepy. They had debated the point back and forth until, inevitably, Aziraphale had persuaded him it was a necessary stylistic choice. The demon had grunted his concession, and two weeks later they had taken delivery of an antique French Louis armchair, gold-armed and plush-cushioned. It had remained unused, as Crowley had argued it would, until the moment Aziraphale found himself sitting there in the demon’s memory of the first and only Christmas they had spent together.

The two of them lay in bed, thighs pressed warmly together beneath thick blankets, the impossibly tiny, squirming outline of Barnaby’s dreaming body cuddled between their hips. Crowley reached forward and stroked his soft forehead, smiling sadly as he thought about saying goodbye.

It had already begun to fade to grey, the memory of that happy day they had spent together, replaced by the demon’s gnawing acceptance that this was all he could hope for: moments of forgetting, pinpricks of light against the darkness.

_Look at this. Look at this day. Perfect. This has been the perfect day. This is what you could have had. This is what every day could have been if you’d been better. If you were good. Just a taste. That’s all you get. He’ll fear you, you know that, don’t you? He’ll open his eyes in an hour and he’ll cower from you. He’ll think you’ll hurt him. Would you? Would you hurt him, that little puppy snuggled against you? You’re a demon, after all. That’s all you know how to do, to hurt things, to break things that are good._

Aziraphale wiped his eyes on one sleeve, pushing himself up out of the chair and coming to stand by the side of the bed. He reached out to lay his palm across Crowley’s heart. _You will see him again, Crowley. He’ll remember you, and he’s going to love you so much more than you ever knew you could be loved. He’s going to know you would never hurt him. You’re going to look after him, you’re going to watch him grow, and you’re going to make him the happiest boy in the world. He never feared you, my love, not for one moment._

***

**The Love Nest, London.**

“You already knew?” Crowley asked, his heart squeezing as all the hope that had bloomed there the second before was crushed into nothing.

_He lied to you._

_He knew this whole time and he lied to you._

Aziraphale watched Crowley stare down at the pamphlet in his hand. The words _Repentance and…_ crumpled as he balled the paper in his fist, devastation rising in his chest as the weight of the angel’s deception sunk in.

_He swore that he would never lie to you._

_Why this? Why wouldn’t he tell you this? It’s…it’s good news, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t he want you to know?_

_Unless._

_Unless he never wanted you to be free. Unless he never wanted you by his side in heaven._

_Stop it. Stop it, you know him. You know that’s not true._

_Then why did he hide this? Why did he hide the one thing that would allow you to be together, the one thing that might save you from this prison?_

_My actions,_ the angel thought, _my actions stoked that fire. What did I do to him, what pain did I put him through? He wasn’t angry that day, he was heartbroken. I broke my promise, I lied to him._

As surely as if they were his own thoughts, Aziraphale felt the memory of his own betrayal feed the poison in Crowley’s mind.

_What if you were right? What if you were only ever his plaything? Why would he love you? Look at yourself. Demonic. Broken. You will never stand by his side. Heaven will never forgive you. You belong to hell and you will die in hell._

Aziraphale took a step forward, reached out to place his hand over the demon’s heart, to erase that feeling of deception so the demon would never remember that pain. He stopped himself at the last moment, his fingers brushing the demon’s chest. _No. I did this to him. I don’t get to take it away. I don’t get to erase what I did. I don’t get to rewrite our story to ease my own guilt. This is what fear does. Don’t erase it. Remember it._

*** ****

**Primrose Cottage, St Ives.**

_This can’t be real,_ Crowley thought, as he lay deathly still in that cloud-soft bed in a little seaside escape in Cornwall, looking down at the angel that lay sleeping in his arms. _Is this what it’s like to be free? Look at him. He’s perfect. He’s so utterly perfect._

_Are we really here? Have we made it? Will every morning feel like this? Is it possible to ever grow used to waking up beside him? No. No, I won’t let that happen. Tomorrow and the next day and every day that comes after will feel this way. Waking up beside him will never feel like anything other than peace._

_My angel, my love, we did it._

Crowley leaned down to press a sweet kiss to the sleeping angel’s forehead, and in the corner of the room where he watched that happy scene play out, Aziraphale smiled. How strange and how wonderful, what a privilege, to hear all the things your lover thinks about you in their heart.

***

**Kew Gardens, Richmond.**

Aziraphale reached for the rail of the treetop walkway, gripping it for balance and waiting for his body to catch up with his mind. He found stillness after a moment, let the race of his heartbeat subside as he fell into the next memory.

 _Why am I here,_ he wondered idly, watching as Crowley gazed out across the sprawl of forests that lay in the distance, _why here?_ The other memories had made sense for the most part. For better or worse they were pivotal moments: the highs, the lows, the first times, the desperate times, the escapes, the almost-endings. What had happened here, though, to imprint this moment on Crowley’s mind?

 _He knows,_ the demon had thought, his silent thoughts filling Aziraphale’s own mind until, at last, the angel understood the importance of that day. _He knows who I was. He knows what I did before I fell. He knows me. He knows that I can be good, that I made something beautiful. I was good, wasn’t I? Maybe She will let me be good again, one day._

He stepped closer to the demon, let one hand come to rest at the Crowley’s waist until they were standing side by side, one of them a spectre who went unnoticed in the memory, the other a fallen angel looking out at his forests, his home.

In the afternoon sun, Aziraphale squinted down at the card Crowley held in one hand, smiled at the words written in his own looping handwriting, as true now as they ever had been.

_For all the beauty you brought to their world, and mine. Yours, to the end of everything._

***

**Crowley’s apartment, London.**

Aziraphale followed Crowley as the demon stumbled down the corridor, shoulders rounded in exhaustion, each step sending pain ricocheting through his legs. He could have miracled the pain as it arrived but he left it there, gnawing at him, reminding him, punishing him for what he had done that day.

 _I can’t keep doing this_. The demon sighed, pausing to lean against the doorframe as he hovered his hand over the lock and caught his breath. _I don’t want to. I don't want to hurt people._

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s memories swirl to the surface, images of scarlet spraying through the air, of screams, of loss, of pain. They dissipated as quickly as they had arrived, leaving only an echo of desolation in the angel’s mind, a flash of the guilt Crowley carried with him after carrying out another deed in hell’s name.

The angel slipped into the apartment before the door closed, though he wasn’t sure doors could stop a visitor in the world of memory. He watched Crowley check his phone, felt the demon’s flicker of disappointment when there were no overtly formal text messages to be found. He followed him as he pottered around the apartment, checking the underside of Freddie’s leaves, smiling approvingly at the recent growth spurt the orchids had enjoyed.

Crowley turned then, and Aziraphale turned with him, found himself staring at a battered book perched on the arm of the sofa as a flare of hope sent warmth radiating through the demon’s chest. The angel tilted his head, trying to remind himself of the title on the book’s spine, then shook his head and tutted. _The task at hand, for heaven’s sake._

He followed Crowley into the bedroom, stood in the doorway and watched as the demon gazed down at the angel's own sleeping form, curled beneath the sheets, snoring softly.

 _Well, that's unattractive,_ Aziraphale thought, then felt that shame fade away as Crowley sat down next to him, reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead.

 _Angel,_ the demon thought, _you waited for me. You stayed. You’ve never stayed before._

***

**Crowley’s apartment, London. The early hours of the morning of the day after the world failed to end.**

_I could kiss him. I could do it right now. I could end this dance we’ve been locked in for six thousand years. Maybe I should. Maybe I should just do it. What would he do, I wonder? Maybe I should find out. A few drinks in. Might not even remember the rejection. Almost died today. Actually, almost, really came pretty bloody close. Saw Satan. Haven’t seen him for a while. Just as angry as I remember. Bit redder, though. Does he put it on for the humans? Extra red. Extra angry. Extra grrr-y. Where was I? Oh yeah, kissing Aziraphale. Seems like a good plan. A solid plan. Maybe I’ll just wait until he stops talking. Wait, what is he saying?_

“You’ve always been dangerous.”

_Ah, there it is. Of course. Of course that’s how he feels. Why wouldn’t he think that? You are, aren’t you? Dangerous. Caring for you, maybe even… Stop it, don’t think like that. However he feels, even knowing you is dangerous._

When Crowley had fallen silent that night, Aziraphale had wondered if the demon was angry with him, if he had said the wrong thing, had offended him with clumsy words that could never reveal how he truly felt. It wasn’t until he revisited the memory through Crowley’s eyes that he realised there was no anger in the demon’s mind, only sadness, only resignation to what he’d always been afraid of - that the angel felt fear when he looked at him, that he was scared Crowley might hurt him, that his soul might really be as evil as heaven had always said it was.

“Come on, angel. You can’t fear me, not after everything.” There was lightness in the demon’s words, though Aziraphale knew the weight that lay behind him.

The angel watched the memory of himself smile drunkenly, reach out one hand to flick his fingers against Crowley’s palm. “I don’t fear you, I said you’re dangerous.”

“How am I, an angel cast out of heaven, a demon probably about to be cast out of hell, dangerous to anybody any more?”

There was a heartbeat of pause, far shorter than Aziraphale had remembered. In his mind he remembered a moment of panic, of weighing up every option, of seeing doom in every one but knowing he didn’t care, not any more. He watched himself speak, heard the tremor in his voice as he said the words that neither or, nor Crowley, would ever forget.

“Because I would follow you anywhere; to the ends of the Earth, beyond it, straight into the pits of hell, if you asked me to.”

Aziraphale was back in Crowley’s mind then, smiling as he watched the demon feel something that had laid dormant in his heart for a very long time: hope.

***

 **A.Z. Fell and Co., Soho. The day Armageddon failed.** ****

As Crowley fought his way through the plumes of smoke and torrents of fire, the faint strains of Queen warbled out from a record that had long since become a twisted shard that span, miraculously, round and round on the gramophone.

Aziraphale stood between a pillar and a bookshelf, watching his shop go down in flames. He hadn’t noticed the shop, though, not really. He was fixated on the look of abject panic on Crowley’s face. He had seen the demon stare down Satan, he had seen him defy Gabriel and Michael and legions of heaven’s angels, but he had never seen true horror on the demon’s face until that moment when he truly believed Aziraphale was lost.

It was strange to watch your possessions burst into flame and burn away before your eyes, to stand next to a raging fire that didn’t even leave your cheeks pink with heat. He might have been standing in an open field or under a waterfall. He felt nothing. Except for Crowley’s pain.

“Angel,” the demon begged, falling to his knees and reaching desperately at scraps of paper that burned away to ash between his fingers. “Please, angel. Don’t leave me. You promised me. You promised. You and I, together, at the end of the world.”

As Crowley let that burning sense of loss overcome him, Aziraphale stepped forward to touch his shoulder and kneel by his side.

 _I’m here, my love,_ he whispered, though he knew the demon could not hear the words. _I’m here. I’ll find my way back to you, I promise._

***

**New York City. 2012.**

Aziraphale sat next to Crowley on the low wall that ran around the edge of a fountain. The spray flicked up onto his hand but left no drops of water there. Aziraphale shook away the imagined water anyway, a reflex. He observed Crowley, head resting against the palm of his hand as his elbow dug into his knee. His feet tapped impatiently against the ground as he watched three boys kick a ball back and forth, carefree as they laughed and joked above the background hum of noise in the park.

“Man, did you _see_ her though?”

“Yeah, I saw her, Franklin, it’s not happening. Pass the ball.”

_Come on, just do it. What are you waiting for? What’s the point in dragging it out? Waiting isn’t going to make it go away. You don’t have a choice. Just do it. Don’t think about it, just get the job done._

Aziraphale had travelled almost a decade back through Crowley’s memories but this was the first time he truly questioned what he was doing, wondered whether he should turn and go before he witnessed something he could never unsee.

 _So this is it,_ the angel thought, _this is your work. This is what you tried to hide from me for so long. This is your ‘mischief’. This is what they made you do._

Crowley got to his feet, sighing, and clicked his fingers as one of the boys passed the ball to his friend. A gust of wind blew in then, catching the ball and whipping it out of the park and down the steps towards the road.

“Get the ball, bug brain!” One of the boys pointed to the road, laughing, and his friend shouted back as he jogged after it.

The boy paused on the pavement, looking both ways. It was quiet. He ran after the ball, reaching for it as it skittered into the far lane. Aziraphale watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as Crowley swallowed deeply, closed his eyes, and clicked his fingers again.

A beaten up green car sped around the corner. Behind the wheel, shock froze the driver’s face as she slammed on the brakes. The boy didn’t even see it coming. Crowley did. And there, in the memory, Aziraphale did too.

The demon opened his eyes, forcing himself to watch every moment until Death stepped out of the shadows. Only then did he look away.

 _You did this,_ he thought, as he buried his hands in his pockets and walked away, trying to block out the sound of screams. _You did this. You. You. You did this._

***

 **A.Z. Fell and Co., Soho. 1987.** ****

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found himself in his bookshop. It was dark but nothing was on fire. So that was something.

He heard a soft moan of desire from the other side of the room, looked up to find two silhouettes illuminated beneath a sconce light. One was pressing the other against a bookshelf, their lips were a breath away from touching, and Aziraphale was struck by the need to look away in embarrassment.

“Stop.”

He heard his own voice then, looked back to see Crowley step away, chest heaving as he stared down at Aziraphale, one arm braced against the bookshelf next to the angel’s shoulder.

“I can’t do this.” His own voice again, clipped and cold. “You know I can’t.”

The angel watched as Crowley took another step back, nodding slowly as the familiar shame of rejection washed over him.

_No, no that’s not how I meant it. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that. It was to keep you safe, my love. Is that really what I said? Is that how it sounded? Did I really speak to you like that, my love? I'm sorry, oh, I’m so, so sorry. Crowley, I never… I never meant it to sound that way. I hope you know that now. I hope I get the chance to tell you._

***

From that stolen night in the bookshop Aziraphale found himself sinking further back with every passing memory, from the night Crowley saved him from the grip of three grinning Nazis in St Anthony’s Church during the Blitz, to the moment the demon stood on the shoreline in the Indian heat and snapped his fingers, leaving a creeping famine in his wake. He’d received a special commendation for that one, a _surplus of souls_ , hell had told him and, in the recesses of his memory, Aziraphale had learned of it too.

The angel stood in the background of every scene, observing in silent horror as he watched the demon work, understood for the first time the scale of what hell had forced him to do. He watched from the corner of a quiet study in 1804 as Crowley crept up to a frustrated, humiliated man and whispered promises to him, inspired the idea of a duel that would finally settle a decades-long rivalry.

“Time to make a stand, my friend,” the demon had hissed, and for a moment Aziraphale felt what humans had felt in Crowley’s presence: fear.

 _This is why he’s disgusted by you_ , the demon had thought that night as he’d hurried away from the office into the darkness. _Look at what you’ll do to stay here on Earth, look at everybody you’ll hurt just to stay near him. Of course he’s disgusted by you. They were right, you’re bad, you’re bad all the way through._

The angel tumbled back further and further: ten years, twenty years, fifty years, watching again and again as Crowley carried out hell’s bidding. Watching snap after snap of the demon’s fingers, watching as he turned away, face flecked with blood, watching as he promised himself it was the last time he would hurt another soul, until he thought of the angel’s face and realised he would do it again and again for eternity if that’s what it took to keep their secret safe.

Aziraphale found himself unable to watch, eyes squeezed closed as he tried to block out the roar of Crowley’s thoughts, of the dark stain of guilt against the demon’s soul, the blackened smudge of rot that had grown and grown with every deed hell had demanded of him. It was too much to live that suffering, he fought back tears, heard his breath catch in his throat as he watched his love, his Crowley, grow smaller and smaller.

_I can’t watch this. I can’t do this any more. Stop. I want it to stop. Please. Please, make it stop._

And so it did. After all, Aziraphale had entered the demon’s memories of his own accord, could step out of them at any moment. The world around him had frozen, a perfectly still tableau of the chaos one fallen angel had wreaked on a quiet mountain town in the late 1700s.

Crowley was a statue, middle finger flush to the pad of his palm as he held one hand aloft, his lips crumpled in anguish as he waited for the inevitable. Aziraphale took a step closer to him, shrank away as he saw the utter heartbreak on the demon’s face, felt his regret for a thousand atrocities that hadn’t yet come to pass.

 _Crowley,_ he whispered, reaching out to run his thumb along the length of the demon’s lips. He looked up at the demon. _So sad, you look so desperately sad, my love. I wish I could carry this for you. This is half of our story, I should be sharing the burden with you. This isn’t your suffering to carry alone. Let me carry my share, I’m the one who caused so much of it. This was for us, all of it. I can’t change what happened to you, my love, I know that, but perhaps there is still something I can do. Perhaps you don’t have to carry this alone any more._

The world shocked back into motion then and Aziraphale found himself in another memory. This time when the demon carried out hell’s wishes the angel took him by the hand, placed his other over Crowley’s heart and closed his eyes as the demon snapped his fingers. He felt an unseen force shudder through his chest and sagged under the weight of it. He looked down, noticed the trace of something black and sticky on his fingertips.

In another memory he leaned close to the demon as he snapped his fingers, whispered that he had loved him then and would love him always. In another, he promised Crowley that he wasn’t evil, that his heart was as good as it always had been, that he knew he had had no choice, that it was hell, at the end of everything, who would have to answer for every soul they had forced him to claim.

He looked down at his fingers again, found his hands dripping an ooze of black liquid onto the toes of his shoes. He felt heavy, tired, but there was more work to do.

***

**Marrakesh, Morocco. 1741.**

The scent of rose washed over Aziraphale and the angel knew where he stood before he opened his eyes. _No,_ he whispered, reached back as if he might find a door there, found nothing but a smooth, warm wall. _No, please._

He had spent centuries running away from the memory of that night and now there he stood, watching it unfold from the other side. He knew the memory of his words well enough but hearing them from Crowley’s point of view? That would be a different type of torture entirely.

The angel opened his eyes and felt his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he took in the sight of two bodies pressed together beneath a thin sheet, Crowley’s chest against his own back. Their words were whispered, soft fantasies breathed into the air and whisked away to the enduring vault of memory, but Aziraphale heard them all. He heard every promise, every peal of joyful laughter, every heartbroken silence as they realised, of course, that fantasy is all that night held.

"We’ll feed the ducks. Every day, angel. We’ll walk to the park, stop at the bakery…” Crowley stopped then, closed his eyes in case it might stop the tears he was fighting back.

“Not bread. It’s not good for them. Oats,” he heard himself say, voice catching as he summoned a smile.

“Pocketful of oats. Oats for days. Every duck in London will watch out for us. Here they come, that couple with the oats, get ready, fellas.”

 _If only you knew,_ the angel thought, stepping closer and kneeling beside the bed. He rested a hand against the curve of Crowley’s waist, leaned in to whisper to him. _If only I could tell you. You do make it, both of you. You build a home, you have this life, you have peace, if only for a while. You’re happy, both of you, together. You make it._

Aziraphale stood up then, turning to go before he was forced to hear his own words of rejection through Crowley’s memory.

“You have always been the bravest one of us, Aziraphale.”

He heard the demon speak one final time, felt desperation and hopelessness rise in Crowley’s chest as the memory of himself answered with his own clumsy attempt at protecting the one he loved.

“I’m not...I can’t...I’m not like you. I still have something to lose.”

And then, as he felt the demon’s heart begin to break, Aziraphale stepped back into the next memory, leaving a trail of black footsteps in his wake.

***

**Denmark. 1272.**

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand as the angel rushed to button his shirt closed.

Aziraphale watched himself snatch his hand away, avoiding Crowley’s gaze as he stared down at the rough floorboards beneath his feet. In his own memories Aziraphale remembered the feeling of pounding fear in his chest, the sick dread he had felt when Gabriel had cornered him earlier that decade. The archangel had smiled in satisfaction, talked loudly of a rumour he had heard about a demon and an angel enjoying each other’s company over a glass of wine in Bordeaux.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Aziraphale heard the memory of himself say.

 _It was only a matter of time_ , Crowley thought, steeling himself for the inevitable. When he spoke, his voice was tired, dull. “Just say it, angel.”

 _Don’t say it,_ Aziraphale begged, closing his eyes, wishing beyond everything that he could step into the memory and change his words forever, to take them away so Crowley never had to hear them leave his lips. He didn’t need to feel the hurt he caused, he had seen it that day written on every inch of the demon’s face.

“I came to say goodbye, Crowley.”

 _I’m sorry, my love_ , the angel murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and shuffling closer to the demon who would never feel his presence there. _It was to protect you, I promise you that. I had to keep you safe. I couldn’t risk you._

“After everything you said,” Crowley whispered, voice taut in his throat. “What about this being worth the risk?”

The angel had turned, stroking his cheek sadly. “It’s not, as it turns out. Nothing is.”

_It’s not worth the risk. You’re not worth the risk. You’re not worth it. Not worth it. You will never be worth it. Listen to him, you’re not worth the risk. Remember that, demon. That’s all you are, just a demon. Not worth it. Not worth it._

As he felt Crowley’s pain shatter his own heart, Aziraphale shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, cursing his own bumbling, clumsy words, his ugly turn of phrase, all those little ambiguities that had caused the demon so many years of pain.

_No, my love, it wasn’t you. You were worth the risk. You always were._

*** ****

**Pompeii, Italy. 65 AD.**

Crowley curled in on himself on the floor against the bed in his little house in Pompeii, crying as he tried to wipe blood from his hands. He miracled it away but it came back, every time it came back, a badge of honour from hell for all he had achieved that day.

Though Crowley had been alone that night, Aziraphale stepped in from the closed door and went to the demon, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close as he cried.

 _Your heart, Crowley, your heart is so good. You are good, you have always been good._ Aziraphale pressed one hand to Crowley’s heart, the other to his cheek. He leaned close and kissed the demon’s cheek, his neck, his forehead. _Think of the stars. Think of the trees. It was you. You made them, Crowley. You made goodness. You are so good, my love._

He would never know what Crowley had done that day to leave his hands drenched in blood that hell would force him to carry on his skin every day for a year. A reward, they said, for an evil job well done. He didn’t need to know. All he knew was that Crowley didn’t have to carry it alone.

There, in a memory nearly two millennia old, Aziraphale closed his eyes, told the demon he loved him one more time and tugged a fraction of Crowley’s guilt free until it coiled around his own heart, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. The ink-black tar of guilt had reached his wrists, and Aziraphale left momentary smears of black on everything he touched.

_I’ll see you soon, my love, and we will carry this together, between us, always. I hope it’s enough._

The angel’s words were silent, echoing only in his own mind. Beside him, Crowley cried hopelessly in the empty room, thinking of the day the angel he loved would realise the depths of his evil deeds, wondered how long until his luck ran out and he found himself alone again.

***

**Mesopotamia. 3004 BC.**

When Aziraphale opened his eyes to find he was looking at the memory of Crowley sidling up to his own angelic self, the only thing he felt was confusion. It rolled off of Crowley like waves, only growing as his conversation with the angel played out.

_Why would She… Why would She want this? She loves humanity, I know She does. They’re Her project. She dreamed about them for years, centuries, eons. She would never want this. Why would they do this, angel? This isn’t what She wants, surely. To make them suffer, to drown them, the children. Why? Unless… It was him, wasn’t it? This was Gabriel’s command? Why didn’t She… Why didn’t She stop him? Why didn’t Raphael stop him? Why didn’t you stop him? You can’t watch them do this. Do something. Stop them. Aziraphale, please. I thought you were different._

In front of them, the arc waited, the animals went in two by two, and Crowley watched heaven's will come to pass in silent horror, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t the only Earthly emissary who was trapped in a prison of compliance.

***

**Eden.**

_The trees_ , Crowley thought, as he slithered up from hell and recoiled against the blinding light of the sun. It had been so many years since he had seen the sun, since he had felt her warmth. _My trees, you’re here, they kept you safe._ He coiled around the trunk of the nearest tree, felt it pulse against him, welcoming him back.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley, in serpentine-form, visited tree after tree, felt love for the first time in so many long years. For a moment, the demon was happy.

A flicker then, and Aziraphale found himself standing at Eden’s Eastern gate, next to the two of them as they shared the first conversation, the words that set everything else in motion. He didn’t feel his own curiosity, though, about the demon that stood passively by his side. Instead, he felt Crowley’s overwhelming heartbreak.

He looked up at Crowley’s face, fixed and unreadable as he watched the first rainclouds gather on the horizon. They exchanged a word, a joke here and there, and then Aziraphale watched himself extend a wing to protect the demon from the rain.

 _This is my garden, I built it for Her, for them._ The demon glanced down at Aziraphale’s robes, at the empty space where the sword used to sit. _I should be the one protecting it. Not him._

 _Even then,_ Aziraphale realised, falling to his knees as the black flow of guilt streamed down his fingers, speckling the wall beneath him. _Even then I hurt him. I hurt him on the first day he ever knew me._

He felt tears come then, slowly, at first, and then suddenly he was sobbing at Crowley’s feet, murmuring staccato apologies the demon would never hear.

_Was this the first time I hurt you, my love? Was this the moment when everything start falling apart? Was it here, standing in the rain in the very beginning, on the first day of all?_

***

**Hell.**

_Crowley,_ Aziraphale whispered, his voice echoing nowhere but in his own mind, _Crowley, are you there?_

Darkness. There was darkness all around. For a moment Aziraphale wondered if they had come full circle, if he was back in the void where his journey through Crowley’s memories had begun. Had he made it all the way to the end? He had carried what he could, had he taken enough to share the load, to save the demon’s heart?

_My love, are we back here, are we at the end? Will you come back to me now? Have I done enough?_

He was tired, he was so desperately tired. He felt the weight of all he had done that day tear him down until he could barely stay upright, until all he could do was put one foot in front of the other and search for Crowley in the darkness.

_Weak._

_You are nothing._

_Nobody will come for you._

_You failed them. Remember that, demon._

_It was your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

Aziraphale heard the echo of vicious words grow closer. He urged himself on, moving faster and faster until he was stumbling towards Crowley, until the evil words belched out from hell’s depths were so loud they screamed over his own thoughts. He raced to the demon who was barely moving, merely inching forward in the dark.

 _Left foot. Right foot. One more step. Another. One more. Keep going._ The demon whispered the words again and again, desperately fighting to get away from that voice, that evil, smiling voice that had followed him for so long.

Aziraphale realised where they were, which memory he had fallen into. They weren’t in the void. They hadn’t come full circle. He was in hell, watching the torture Crowley had endured for year after year until hell was content they had broken his spirit for good. That voice. That creeping voice of despair. Demon-eater, they called it, that’s what Crowley had said. He had heard it in his own mind, once or twice, hadn’t he?

 _No,_ he thought, turning back to stare into the darkness that fuelled the demon-eater. _I will not let you hurt him._

He took the demon’s face in his hands, pacing backwards as Crowley pushed on, muttering to himself to take one step, one more step, don’t stop, don’t ever stop.

_Crowley, I will not let it hurt you, I will not let it break you. I’m here. Even if you don’t know it yet. I'm here. I’ve always been here. I’ve always been with you my love. I can’t change what happened to you here, I know I can’t. But if these memories find you again, if they haunt your dreams, I will be here from now on. Whenever you remember what they did to you, I will be here. I’ll carry this with you. I’ll walk beside you. Here, take my hand. It might take us six thousand years to walk hand in hand in the sunlight but, look, we did it in hell first, my love. Whenever this memory takes you again, I’ll be here holding your hand, we’ll walk this path together. Together, always. Everything you’ve done, we’ve done together now. I’m here, look, I’m here._

He held up one hand, dripping black from every fingertip, and gripped onto Crowley’s fingers with the other. Beside him the demon walked, head down, eyes closed. Afraid but hopeful, trudging slowly towards freedom.

***

**Heaven.**

Aziraphale found himself standing on stage in heaven, surrounded by demons. No. Not demons. Angels. They were still angels then, for a moment longer at least. He looked out at the crowds of angels, those who had gathered there to watch in horror, or amusement, or satisfaction. He saw himself in the crowd, terrified, impossibly young. His own world had changed in that moment, he realised. Heaven was never home again after that day.

He spotted Raphael in the crowd, poised and regal and utterly neutral. Only their eyes betrayed them, locked on Lucifer, half-closed and desperate as if they couldn’t bear to watch, couldn’t bear to look away.

As Gabriel prowled between the rows of rebel angels, Aziraphale tuned him out, even tuned out Crowley’s internal fear that betrayed his nonplussed expression. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, to shout and scream and judge and condemn but Aziraphale didn’t hear a word. For the first time, Lord Gabriel had been silenced.

Aziraphale walked through the rows of angels who were soon to fall and stood by Crowley’s side. He reached for his hand, then shook his head and flung his arms around him, closing his eyes and whispering into his neck.

_Something is about to happen that will change everything for you, my love, and things will be hard for a while, for a long time. There will be darkness and sadness but it will pass, like all things pass, and soon you’re going to know light and love and happiness again. Soon we’re going to find each other and we’re going to love each other so much. It will defy everything. It will feel like madness, maybe it will always feel that way, but every time we come apart we will find each other again, all across the world. Across worlds, even. Gabriel won’t keep us apart. Satan won’t keep us apart. Even the end of the world won’t keep us apart. We’ll die, at least once, maybe twice, time will tell, and even that won’t keep us apart. I will know you soon enough, Crowley, and then I will never stop loving you._

He stepped back, tears shining on his cheeks, holding Crowley’s hands as tightly as he could. _I will always light up your sky, my love, however dark the night gets._

Then he was gripping onto nothing as Crowley and the others vanished in a second. There was only a moment left, he knew that, before Crowley’s memory would end. In the fraction of time that remained Aziraphale turned and reached for Lucifer’s hand.

_We’ll find you. We’ll find you one day, I promise. We’ll bring you back into the light. Don't lose hope, Lucifer, don’t ever lose hope._

There was only time to see the Morningstar steal a final glance at one face in the crowd, only a heartbeat to hear them whisper their final words before Gabriel smiled at the crowd and then Crowley’s fading memory ended.

“I love you. Look after them all.”

***

**Heaven.**

“It’s not over. Don’t say that. Luci, please. It’s never over.” Crowley marched down the length of the room, stopping in front of Lucifer and shaking his head as he looked at the others for support. They watched silently, as Aziraphale himself did from the shadows.

 _So this is how it happened,_ the angel thought, marvelling at how peaceful it was. He had heard the rumours that Lucifer was dragged, unrepentant and screaming, to kneel before Gabriel and declare their defeat with a sword to their throat. He had heard it said so many times and with such conviction that he had never doubted the story until millennia later. Why would he have doubted heaven’s story? What reason did heaven have to lie?

“I’m afraid this time it really is over, little one.” Lucifer smiled, their eyes alive with the light of a thousand golden stars as they rested a gentle hand on Crowley’s shoulder. They looked back at the crowd of angels who gathered in a tight circle around them, reaching out to grip each other’s hands as if they knew the end was inevitable. “I'm sorry. All of you, I'm sorry. I’m so very sorry it’s ended this way. Go with them when they come for us, do as they say, answer their questions. Remember, you followed me into this, I talked you into this. I can be so persuasive, remember that. You will be okay, all of you. Stick together, love each other, I am so very proud of you all. It has been an honour to stand beside you. Don’t forget what we were fighting for. There is always a better way to do things, a kinder way. There can always be a better world.”

“They saw me,” Crowley sobbed, falling against Lucifer and crying all the more for feeling their warm embrace holding him close. “It was my fault, wasn’t it? They saw me. They caught us because of me.”

“No, no, they didn’t,” Lucifer murmured into his hair. “It was me, little one. It was me that they saw.”

“I doomed us all.” Crowley closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Lucifer’s chest and clinging on like a child. “I failed you, I failed all of us.”

“Look at me.” Lucifer cupped the little angel’s face in their hands, tilting his chin up until he had no choice but to meet their gaze. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my friend. _I_ failed us, it was me, I failed you, and I am so sorry for that. Listen, we don’t have much time left. Let’s spend it together, let’s be happy. It’s all there is, after all. I want you to live, little one, I want you to live the happiest life. I want you to be free. I want you to create all those wild and wonderful things you keep in your heart. I want you to love so deeply and fiercely that you understand why the stars shine, why the sun and the moon have been dancing together for eternity. I want you to remember me, remember everything we believed in, and live it every single day. And, if I can ask you for a favour, will you look after Raphael for me? I know they can be grumpy but keep them smiling, keep the biscuit tin full for them. Will you do that for me, please, promise me?”

Crowley nodded weakly, face crumpling as the two of them reached for each other there in the momentary safety of that protective circle of rebel angels. Then the door was thrust open and there came the sound of hundreds of pairs of heavy footsteps, and they were torn from each other’s arms before Crowley could answer.

***

**Raphael’s office.**

“…Stay in the old world if you want to, Raphael, die with it if that’s what you believe in. But there will be a new world and we will go there soon enough, even if we have to fight our way there, with or without your blessing.”

Aziraphale barely dared to breathe as he stood by the window in Raphael’s office, watching Lucifer rise from their seat and spit words into the air like daggers, each one aimed squarely at Raphael’s heart.

For a moment it looked as though the archangel might speak, as though they might ask the two of them to stay, but then they leaned back in their chair and watched Lucifer walk away.

 _They didn’t know,_ Aziraphale thought desperately. He reached out for Lucifer’s hand, as if he might be able to follow them, to pull the memory of them back and tell them not to go, not to leave in anger, to never leave in anger. _It was the last time they would ever speak and they didn’t know._

Then Lucifer was gone and there was only Crowley trailing obediently, reluctantly behind them. Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s angelic younger self looked over his shoulder at Raphael, gave them a small smile, and then walked away. Aziraphale followed behind, listening to the echo of Crowley’s thoughts as he left Raphael alone in their office.

_I’m sorry, archangel. I’m sorry you believed I was like you. I’m sorry I let you down._

_No,_ Aziraphale breathed, breaking into a run to catch up with him. _No, you didn’t let them down. You’ll see them again, my love, and then you’ll know that they loved you always, that they love you still._ He reached forward, pressing his hand to Crowley’s chest and waiting for the telltale heft against his shoulders as he tore away those feelings of failure, of letting down somebody who had trusted him.

As Crowley disappeared down the corridor, Aziraphale sank back against the wall to catch his breath. It had weakened him, the guilt he had taken from Crowley’s heart. His vision swam, the marble floor pitching in and out of focus as he watched the black poison of guilt drip, drip, drip from his own fingers.

***

**The Stars.**

“What do you call this?” Raphael asked curiously, holding a green burst of dust and stars in their hands.

Aziraphale looked down and found himself standing in the vacuum of the great galaxy beyond heaven’s walls. All around were stars, shining silver and gold and purple and blue. From Earth they all looked silver. From heaven too, come to think of it. He should have explored the stars more, he realised, while he had the chance.

Raphael and Crowley stood a little way off and Aziraphale smiled at how young Crowley looked, how happy. He looked free, boyish and excited and somehow lighter than he ever had.

 _This is how he was before,_ the angel realised, walking closer so he could hear their conversation more easily.

“Dear one, you’re not in trouble. This is what creation is, bringing dreams to life. You do it beautifully.” Raphael smiled kindly, cupping Crowley’s chin in their hand as they studied his face.

 _You’re okay,_ the demon thought, reassuring himself as best he could. _You’re not in trouble. You were good. They’re not going to make you leave. You won’t have to go back to Gabriel, not if you’re good._

 _Oh, Crowley,_ Aziraphale murmured, standing by Raphael’s side to watch Crowley’s younger self summon a small smile. _Raphael would never send you back to Gabriel. They never will, my love. They never would have. You didn’t have to be good, you just had to be yourself._

***

**Gabriel’s office.**

“You are _useless_ ,” Gabriel spat, standing up and bearing down on Crowley until the angel held his hands up in front of his face to protect himself. In the corner of the room, Aziraphale flinched. Muscle memory still persisted millennia later, he noted.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Crowley cried, backing away towards the door, voice trembling as he tried to defend his actions. “I didn’t mean to, I got the offices mixed up.”

“I missed an audience with the Almighty!” Gabriel bellowed, both hands slamming down onto his desk as he glowered at Crowley, brandishing a ripped scroll for a moment before tossing it onto the desk as he sat down. From his viewpoint, Aziraphale peeked down at the message Crowley had delivered to the wrong office. A memo about a departmental meeting. No mention of the Almighty at all.

“I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry.” Crowley reached behind himself for the door handle but then Gabriel was on his feet, striding towards the little angel with anger burning in his eyes.

“Look at what you did! You are so _stupid. W_ hy do you always get everything wrong? You were a mistake, you know that, don’t you? She didn’t mean to make you like… _this._ Look around you, look at everybody else. Why can they do everything just fine? Why is it always you who fails? She’ll take you back, do you know that? She’ll take you back and She will take you apart piece by piece and _redistribute_ you. You’ve heard about that, haven’t you? Oh yes, if you can’t serve Her, if you can’t fulfil the purpose She created you for then She will find other ways to make you useful.”

 _But She didn’t create me for this,_ Crowley thought desperately, swallowing deeply as he tried not to cry. Gabriel liked weakness even less than he liked mistakes. _This isn’t my purpose, this isn’t what She told me I was made for. I’m sorry I always get things wrong. I try. I really do, I promise. I’m sorry I can’t be good enough. I’ll try harder, I’ll be better. I’ll be good. Please don’t send me away. Please don’t tell Her I failed._

As Gabriel turned away, tutting in disgust as a tear slipped down Crowley’s cheek, Aziraphale hugged the little angel to his chest, stroking his hair as he whispered to him.

_You never failed Her, Crowley. She will be so proud of everything you have done, I know She will. She loved you then and She loves you still. This isn’t Her, none of this is. This is Gabriel, this is his wickedness, not Hers, and we’re going to end it together. You are everything you’re supposed to be, my love. This is where it started, isn’t it? Here in this room. We’re back at the beginning, aren’t we? Thank you for sharing this with me, thank you for letting me in. I'm sorry I didn’t wait for you to invite me but I hope you understand. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t lose you, my love. I had to do this. I had to share this, to carry this with you. We can do it, we can carry it together. It’s never quite so heavy that way, is it?_

There, inside the four cold walls of Gabriel’s office, Aziraphale took one last shred of guilt and fear and sadness from Crowley’s heart and locked it away in his own chest. He felt something wet on his cheek, dabbed his forearm against it to find a smear of black against his skin. He coughed then, sending a spray of thick black liquid onto the pristine marble flooring. It bubbled there for a moment before disappearing without trace.

He coughed again, found himself fighting for breath. It was too much. He was drowning, wading through a bog that sucked at his legs and dragged him down. He could hardly breathe. That black poison filled his mouth, it blurred his vision, he reached to wipe it away but then there was more, forcing its way out, covering him.

 _What’s happening to me,_ Aziraphale asked, as the ground shifted beneath his feet and he felt the memory begin to end, _is it over? What’s left? Crowley?_

***

**The Beginning.**

_Hello, little one. Can you step into the light?_

_Look at you. Perfect. Perfectly lovely. Perfectly curious._

_What do I want for you?_

_It’s simple. I want you to dream. I want you to imagine things even I haven’t thought of. Then I want you to build them. I want you to make them real. I want you to fill my new world with beauty. Can you do that for me?_

_I want you to have fun. Don’t take it so seriously. Not like the others. Walk amongst the heavens, keep searching for what might lay beyond. If you can’t find anything beyond heaven then I want you to imagine it, I want you to make it real._

_Here, touch my hand, let me see your story. Yes. You’ll be okay. Oh, but you’re going to be busy. Look at that, what a journey you’re going to have. I’m sorry, for all that it matters, for the way the cards have fallen but, well, none of us can control the deck, can we?_

_You are going to be good, little one. You are going to make me so proud._

_Yes, I’m sure._

_What do you mean, how do I know?_

_Of course I know, I’m your Mother._

*****

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*

**

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*****

**Heaven. The present day.**

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found himself back in heaven’s abandoned halls, cowering next to Crowley’s body. His hand was over the demon’s heart, the tip of each of his fingers burned black. The demon didn’t move.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, throat raw and voice weak. _Is this how it ends? Is this how it was supposed to be? Is this where Her journey for us ended, hiding here in the final throes of heaven’s death rattle as you die in my arms? This can’t be how it ends. “_ Please, Crowley. Please wake up.”

He had taken too much of it, he realised, had taken too much of the demon’s pain, his guilt. The angel could barely hold himself up as he pulled Crowley into his arms, crying into his hair and begging over and over, making bargains he knew he couldn’t follow through with.

_Please don’t leave me here alone, I can’t do this without you with me. Please, Mother, if you can hear me, please don’t take him from me. Take me. Don’t hurt him. Take me instead._

Suddenly, Crowley lurched in his arms, chest trembling as he sucked in breath after breath. He was crying too, in fear, in confusion, as his hands found Aziraphale’s face. He was so cold. For a moment he looked lost, as if he was looking at a stranger, and then Aziraphale smiled at him and Crowley whispered his name.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s me. You’re okay. You’ll be okay. We’re back, my love. You found me.” Aziraphale said the words again and again, struggling to his feet and cradling the demon in his arms.

He felt so light, too light, but the demon was clinging onto him and Aziraphale could feel tears against his neck and hear Crowley murmuring against his skin. “I lost you, angel, I couldn’t find you. The lights went out. It was too dark. I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t remember.”

“Raphael, please. Save him,” Aziraphale breathed, feeling his chest seize as he staggered into the archangel’s office. The last thing he remembered was Raphael reaching for Crowley and whispering a name he hadn’t heard the archangel dare utter in millennia, and then the angel fell to his knees and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here with are with chapter two - a lonnnng boi. He's just over 12,500 words so the longest of any Ineffably Yours chapter so far! I think I need a nap now 😅.
> 
> I've been so excited to write a journey back through Crowley's memories from the void all the way back to his very first day so I really hope you enjoyed it. I love the idea of there being three sides to memories - the parts you remember, the parts the other person remembers, and what objectively happened. I think it would be fascinating to get to relive memories through the other person's eyes and see the impact their experiences have had on them, so that's really what I wanted to explore here.
> 
> There are a few memories here that will eventually become short stories, so I'm excited to get to write them in more detail. Oh, and it's incredibly tenuous but I also fitted in the tiniest Sandman crossover into one of the scenes so, er, any other Sandman fans here?
> 
> When I came to name this chapter there was no other song that would fit - I know this one is a Good Omens fandom staple and it just seemed to gel so perfectly with this part of the story. In case you haven't heard it before you can listen to here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bfpg0y3nuU. It fits eerily well!
> 
> Anyway, that's enough rambling from me. I truly hope you enjoyed this one and I'll be back next Wednesday with chapter three, where we'll be dealing with the aftermath of the last two chapters.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments on chapter one, they made me cry sooo well done y'all 😂. I hope you all have a wonderful, happy week <3


	3. Waking Up Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speak freely in heaven? How long was I asleep for?”

**Heaven.**

Aziraphale felt something wet dribble down the side of his cheek. It was the first time he had felt anything for a number of days.

“I’m alive?” he croaked, voice scratching in his throat, unused since he had staggered into Raphael’s office with Crowley in his arms, barely breathing, calling desperately for the archangel to save the dying demon.

He hadn’t expected an answer, found himself shrinking back as a chirpy voice informed him that, yes, he was very much alive.

“Crowley?”

“He’s nearby,” the voice answered, far too happily for Aziraphale’s liking. “He’s with Raphael, he’s resting. I’ll take you to him soon. For now, you need to rest.”

“Crowley,” the angel whispered again, as he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

***

Some time later came Aziraphale woke to another trickle of warm liquid streaking a path from his mouth to neck.

“Stop,” the angel muttered, reaching out a weak hand and brushing away something cold and hard. He opened one eye and found a spoon hovering inches away from his face. “What is… Is this holy water? Get it away from me.”

“Oh, well, no, it isn’t. I didn’t actually think of that. We can pretend it is, would that help? Isn’t this what humans do when somebody’s recovering? I wasn’t quite sure what constituted _soup_ but I thought it might make you feel at home. I’ve been watching over you myself, waiting for you to wake up.”

Aziraphale blinked slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight streaming in from the floor to ceiling windows. Outside was a heavenly view of perfectly coiffed clouds, as if they had been painted there by one of the masters. Once his eyes had caught up with his mind, Aziraphale turned slowly to look at the owner of the voice, wincing at the pain in his neck.

“Who _are_ you?”

Two bright blue eyes were set in a slender face, pink-cheeked and grinning widely, as if the great big boot of Gabriel’s jurisdiction hadn’t ground him down quite like the rest of them. He dropped the spoon back into a chalice of water and extended a hand. “I’m Remi. It’s an honour to meet you, Principality Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale gave his hand a tentative shake, eyeing the newcomer with distrust. A surge of pain caught up with him then, leaving the angel hunching over as he let out a low groan of discomfort. Nevertheless, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, catching his breath. “Take me to Crowley. I want to see him.”

“Let’s get you back into bed.” Remi smiled brightly, sliding a hand under Aziraphale’s calves and easing them back under the pristine white bedsheets. Where he had summoned a bed from, Aziraphale wasn’t sure, but a wave of exhaustion left him unable to fight off Remi’s gentle insistence that he rest. “You gave us a bit of a scare but it was quite the dramatic entrance. What is it you two said before, something about going with style?”

“Sorry, what did you say your name was? So tired, I… I didn’t catch it before.”

“Remi. It’s Remiel but nobody calls me that. I was the second. I’m the only one left now after the, er, well, after a few of the originals were lost. Only one of _you_ , though, isn’t there? Aziraphale the Deserter.”

Aziraphale eased back on his elbows, letting out a single bark of a laugh that ended in a throaty cough. “That’s what they call me?”

“I heard Gabriel say it once when he thought nobody was listening. Not that I was eavesdropping. Well, I was eavesdropping a bit. Always used to slow down when I walked past his office door. We all did. Mostly we would hear him laughing. Or shouting. Or crying. Bit weird. Anyway, speaking of his office, what do you think?” Remi stopped speaking, finally, gesturing around the room Aziraphale had been resting in.

Aziraphale sighed, shielding his eyes from the bright light and looking around the room. It had been a cursory gesture but as the four dove grey walls came into focus, Aziraphale felt his throat grow tight as millennia-old dread gripped the back of his neck like hard, cold fingers poised and ready to dole out punishment. When he spoke, his voice with filled with all the panic of an angel who had learned the nature of discipline within those very walls. “Please, why have you brought me here?”

Although it had seemed an impossible feat, Remi’s eyes grew wider as he realised the angel’s worry. He reached out a hand, laid it gently on Aziraphale’s chest and sat down beside him. “It’s not… He’s not here, Aziraphale. He doesn’t know you’re here. Raphael intercepted you. We knew we had to get to you before Gabriel did. You’re hidden, you’re safe, both of you. He’s on Earth.”

“He’s on _Earth_?”

“They left, all of them. Well, most of them. Just a few of us left, those surplus to requirement apparently.”

Aziraphale tutted, meeting Remi’s gaze for the first time. A look passed between them and Aziraphale wondered how much shared history he might have with this inquisitive little angel. “Why did you bring me here? I don’t want to be in here.”

“I reclaimed it,” Remi said proudly, hopping up onto the severe steel grey desk that had been Gabriel’s once upon a time. “I believe on Earth they call it a _power move_.”

Aziraphale smiled, despite himself, then felt a sharp pain flare under his ribs. He groaned, reaching up to grip his chest, and then his smile fell. He held one hand up in front of his face, looking desperately from Remi to the five blackened fingertips before his eyes.

“What…what happened? Will you take me to Crowley now? Please, I need to see him.”

Remi pursed his lips, glancing at the office door as he mentally weighed up his options. Eventually, he settled on a course of action. “Wait here. _Don’t_ follow me, we don’t need you collapsing again. You scared us half to death.”

***

“Aziraphale.” Raphael’s voice was as warm as the angel had ever heard it as the archangel swept into the room in a flourish of silver robes, rushing to his bedside and embracing him. “Heavens, I am so happy to see you awake.”

Aziraphale rested his forehead against Raphael’s shoulder, realising it was only the second time the archangel had shown him such physical affection in all the years they had been in each other’s lives. There had been kind smiles, knowing nods of unspoken solidarity, that unexpected hug on the day he had gone off to Eden to protect humanity, but a warm, unhurried embrace? That was entirely new for the archangel. They felt looser, Aziraphale mused, somehow softer, as if something in them had been unlocked or unwound, a knot worked free.

“How are you feeling?” Raphael asked, pulling back and watching the angel with serious eyes. “For a while we thought… There was nothing we could do, not for this. This couldn’t be righted with a miracle. It was careless, you know that, don’t you? It could have ended both of you, it was…”

“…Necessary,” Aziraphale finished.

Raphael sighed, conceding with a nod. “I know, I know. We had only just got you back, the thought of losing you again, both of you…” They stopped then, clapping their hands together and letting the sound echo around the bare office. “But you’re here, you’re safe, and you’ll both be well, in time. Now, questions. We can speak freely here.”

“Speak freely in heaven? How long was I asleep for?”

The archangel’s lips creased into a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners as a low chuckle escaped their lips. Aziraphale watched them with a smile on his own face, wondering when he had last seen the archangel look so light, so young, so driven and poised for whatever might come next. They were ready, the angel realised, as if, finally, their time had come.

“How did we end up here? How did you find us? We thought…the park, we thought we would go back to the park.”

Raphael shifted closer. “Gabriel has been searching for you both since the day of the rapture. He had an army looking for you. They’ve searched the stars, they’ve watched the skies for a sign. Between you and me I think he went so far as colluding with hell. He was obsessed, he _is_. My suspicion is that he left for Earth earlier than planned just in case the two of you showed up. He didn’t think you could resist trying to save humanity from the end.”

“Well, he was right about that, wasn’t he?” Aziraphale sighed, frustrated that they were so utterly predictable. “But how did you get to us first?”

“He believed you would fall into his lap, that his purpose is so divine it would be impossible for him to fail. Gabriel’s arrogance has always been his downfall, little one. It’s made him lazy. It never crossed his mind that those of us he left behind might have a common interest, that we, too, might be searching for you. He didn’t see us, any of us, not truly. He only sees what he wants to see, after all. He mistakes quietness for compliance, kindness for weakness. He always has.”

Watching the quiet pride in Raphael’s eyes, Aziraphale smiled, despite the worrying train of thought of what fate might have befallen them if Gabriel’s plans had come to pass.

The angel reached for Raphael’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you for never giving up on us.”

“No, I need to thank _you_ , Aziraphale. The day you chose freedom, love, the things that truly matter, you gave us all something to hope for. You have quite the dedicated fan in young Remi, you know.”

There was a little cough of embarrassment from the doorway and Aziraphale looked up to see Remi smiling bashfully. “I don’t mean to intrude but I think he’s starting to wake up.”

***

Crowley’s eyelashes fluttered softly as he dreamed. He looked peaceful content; two words Aziraphale had never associated with the demon. Restless, pent up, fitful: those were the words that had always sprung to mind. He slept soundly in a white robe, face unlined and relaxed, and Aziraphale wondered if this was how he had looked before the fall, before the thumbprint of Gabriel’s final judgement had been etched on his soul forever.

 _No more,_ the angel thought, looking down at his own burned fingertips, _your soul is yours now, my love._

Raphael smiled, brushing Crowley’s hair back from his forehead and watching as the scarlet strands flicked back into place. They looked back at Aziraphale. “I already lost him twice. When he didn’t come back with you I feared I might have lost him again.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, lowering his voice out of habit. The idea of heaven being a place to speak freely was going to take more than a single morning to adapt to. “Why was it only me who came back? Why did Crowley go…somewhere else?”

The archangel pressed their lips together, exhaling heavily as they ran a finger down the length of Crowley’s cheek. “One soul bound to heaven, one soul bound to hell.”

“How did he find his way back? I saw where he went. Only for a moment, only in his memories but I saw something guide him away, somebody. There was somebody down there who knew he didn’t belong. Somebody saved him, Raphael. They brought him back to me.”

“I think, perhaps, that is one of the many questions we will have for him when he wakes up. Ah, look at that, as if on cue. Time for me to excuse myself and let the two of you have a proper reunion.” The archangel laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder for a moment, then slipped away. They paused in the doorway, voice so soft the angel barely heard them speak. “Do you think…will he forgive me?”

Before Aziraphale could reply, the archangel was gone, and Crowley was murmuring something through dry, cracked lips as he began to come to.

 _Will he be different_ , Aziraphale wondered, in the moments before Crowley woke for the first time since he had escaped that terrible place. _Will it have changed him? Will I have changed him? Did I take something from him that might make him…somebody else?_

Eyes closed, lips barely parted, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand. “Angel, are we dead?”

“No, my love, we’re in heaven.”

“Oh, _god._ ”

As tears of relief slipped down his cheeks, Aziraphale smiled. As it turned out, it would take more than a turn in the void for Crowley to become, well, any less Crowley. His eyes were unfocused, as if he was hanging halfway between waking and a dream, but he was still perfectly, unmistakably Crowley.

“What did you do?” the demon croaked, opening one eye and then the other. He blinked tentatively, eyes more sensitive to the light than usual, and Aziraphale brought up a hand to shade him. The demon reached for his chest, fingers pressed to his skin as if he was searching for some missing part of himself. “Why don’t I feel… Aziraphale, what did you do?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning close and pressing his lips to the demon’s cheek. Crowley turned his head, catching the angel’s lips in a kiss as he moved away. “You were dying, Crowley.”

“Your fingers,” Crowley gasped, holding the angel’s hand up and turning it in the light, staring at his fingertips in disbelief. “Angel, tell me what happened. How did we get here?”

“Shhh.” The angel shook his head, threading his fingers between the demon’s. “Not now. For now, you need to rest.”

“Don’t look at me like that. You have to tell me, I nearly _died_.”

“ _Nearly_.” Aziraphale laughed at the absurdity of the situation, cuffing Crowley gently on the shoulder. A moment later his laughter shifted and he found himself crying against Crowley’s chest, arms wrapped around the demon’s angular shoulders. “Crowley, I thought I was going to lose you. When you came out of that place… I didn’t have a choice, I'm sorry, my love. It was too much. You couldn’t take anything else, I had to take some of it for you. Your memories. I went into your memories. I…”

“You _what_?” Crowley hissed, arching over in a coughing fit as he tried to make sense of the situation. “You - did - what?”

“You would have _died_.”

“Then you should have let me.”

“Well, that seems a rather silly route of thinking to go down, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale snipped, his hands finding Crowley’s again and gripping them tightly. “I would take every ounce of guilt from your soul if needs be, and I know you would do the same for me without hesitation. Besides, what’s done is done.”

“No,” Crowley groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows to give Aziraphale a good, hard glare. “What’s done is _not_ done. Maybe I’ll go for a spin in your private memory vault, see how you like it.”

“I wouldn’t bother, it’s mostly just stilton and cake up there.”

They fell silent then, Crowley quietly contemplating how it was that he might cheat death and still happen upon a sense of peace he hadn’t felt for millennia. He felt lighter, as if the drudge of guilt chained to his wrists had somehow been released. Had it gone, he wondered, or had it simply been transferred to the sweet angel by his side?

“I can’t let you do this, angel.”

“You didn’t let me. I didn’t ask. I only did what I should have done centuries ago, Crowley. I didn’t take any more than I deserved. This never should have been your burden to carry alone.”

Whether Aziraphale’s insistence had been effective or the effort of speaking after days of unconsciousness had taken its toll, Crowley fell back against the pristine sheets and nodded weakly.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is, I’m afraid.”

“It’s not. You should have let me die. Stupid angel.”

As Crowley slipped back under, Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss his forehead, whispering the last words the demon would hear for some days. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hump day, folks! I hope you've all had a wonderful week, what's been the highlight of the last seven days for you all?
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments on the last chapter, I'm so glad you've enjoyed the first two chapters and hopefully you enjoyed today's calmer update too. I thought we all needed a bit of a breather to regroup after the opening! I'll be back as normal next week with chapter four, where we'll be seeing a very very overdue reunion between our favourite demon and archangel.
> 
> Lots of love <3


	4. I Felt Alive (and I Can’t Complain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This was the third time I made a spectacle of myself in this bloody room.”

**Heaven.**

Aziraphale’s skin was as soft as it ever had been, as if each fingertip had been burned black for centuries, as though the angel had carried his own hellish branding for as long as Crowley had himself. The demon sighed, lowering Aziraphale’s hand to his chest. “I never wanted you to feel like this.”

Aziraphale shrugged, exhaling a humourless laugh as his fingers slipped beneath the neck of Crowley’s robes to trace an unseen pattern on his skin. “I never knew _this_ is what you were carrying alone for all of those years. How did you live like this?”

Crowley looked away, gesturing vaguely as he avoided meeting the angel’s gaze. “You get used to it.”

“No, you don’t,” Aziraphale said softly, remembering the painful slash of guilt that undercut every movement Crowley made, even in the weeks barely past. It wasn’t something that had diminished over time, sun-bleached and faded; it had been as sharp in his most recent memories as it had millennia before.

“No. You don’t. But you don’t have much of a choice,” he said finally, lips pursed in a sad smile. He wondered what the next weeks, months, might bring for the angel, how it might feel for him to carry around the weight of everything that had come to pass because of their refusal to give up on each other, the combined collateral damage of their millennia-long rebellion.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale nodded, drumming his fingers against Crowley’s chest. “You look well today. Better, at least. The sleep, they said it’s good for you. You were a trendsetter on the nap front, it seems.”

“What’s new?” Crowley laughed, shifting his position so he was sitting up, chin resting on the palm of one hand. “Why are we _here_ , angel?”

“We’re _here_ because _he’s_ down there.” An index finger brandished towards the ground reinforced the angel’s point. Or so he thought.

Crowley’s eyes widened as a gasp fell from his lips. He stared up at Aziraphale in disbelief, reaching for the angel’s hand. “What? Gabriel? He…what happened? He fell?”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, head cocked to the side in a motion that wasn’t all together unreminiscent of Barnaby’s confusion when the treat tin wasn’t opened post haste. “No! Wait, who told you that?”

“ _You_ just did!”

“I did nothing of the sort, my dear.”

“ _We’re here because he’s down there,_ ” Crowley repeated, in his best impersonation of an affected accent, all round vowels and self-satisfaction.

“Well, that sounds nothing like me.”

Thumb and middle finger massaging his temples in a desperate act of self-soothing, Crowley tried again. “Please don’t misconstrue this for caring about his whereabouts but if we’re here then where the hell is our old pal Gabe? I’m pretty sure if he knew we were here I wouldn’t be snuggled up on a mattress that is, literally, I’m sure, as soft as a cloud.”

“He’s on Earth, Crowley.”

“Ohhhh.”

“Like I said.”

“You _didn’t_ say Earth, though, did you? You said he’s _down there_ and we all know _down there_ is code for that leaky-piped, Kafka-esque prison I used to call home sweet home.”

“ _No,_ Crowley. ‘Down there’ means Earth. ‘Down _there_ ’ means hell. It’s all about the emphasis.”

There was a moment of silence as Crowley considered the ramifications of Gabriel’s presence on Earth, before deciding all of that doom and gloom could wait just a little while longer. There were more important matters to attend to, like a proper reunion with his one and only.

“Well, then _emphasise_ yourself a little closer, angel.” The demon purred, shifting over and patting the mattress next to him. A moment later he paused, giving his head a little shake of embarrassment. “That didn’t work, did it?”

“Not one of your better lines, I’m afraid.”

***

“It doesn’t look real,” Crowley mused, forehead pressed to the window as he gazed down at the sky, striped red and orange as the sun began her descent for the day. He had seen the sun rise and set from all angles: above, below, even _further_ below, and many years of comparison had brought him to the conclusion that sunsets on Earth were the most beautiful of all. He told Aziraphale as much, smiling as the angel asked him to explain his reasoning. He leaned back a fraction, meeting the angel’s lips in a kiss before he began.

“There’s too much distance here. It’s like a barrier that kept us apart from everything else. I always hated it. I wanted to be down there, I wanted to discover Her world, the one She thought was so special. Up here it’s easy to feel bigger than everybody else. No, give me Earth any day. I like looking up, it helps you see the wonder in things.”

Behind him, Aziraphale smiled fondly, resting his chin on the demon’s shoulder as he contemplated his words. He was right, of course. That was the problem with heaven: they had spent too much time looking down on everything else, literally, as if they were perched atop an impenetrable tower. Earth had taught him far more lessons in humility and grace than heaven ever had, and Crowley had taught him more still.

Yet there they were at the end of everything: back at the very beginning, in the place where it had all started. The angel chuckled, thinking of circles and cycles and inevitability. Gabriel had fought so hard to keep the rebels out and there they stood, the greatest rebels of all, safe in heaven.

“We thought we were alone out there this whole time, Crowley, but we weren’t.”

“Mmm,” Crowley murmured, nodding as he reached for Aziraphale’s hand, felt the angel squeeze it three times as they looked down at the sunset in quiet contemplation.

Eventually, Aziraphale continued, his voice catching as he spoke the words aloud, realising for the first time that perhaps their own side had never just been the two of them. “They were searching for us every day. They risked everything. They never gave up on us.”

“What now?” Crowley asked, shifting his weight slightly. He was tired, despite the days of sleep, knew he had a long way to go before he was ready for whatever might come next.

“First, you need to rest. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll show them why we were worth the risk.”

Then came a tentative knock at the door, so quiet that Aziraphale couldn’t doubt who might be on the other side of it. He smiled knowingly, kissing Crowley on the cheek and squeezing his hand once more before he padded over to the door.

“I think there’s someone who wants to say hello.”

***

Despite the bone-crushing fatigue, the confusion, the frustration at his own ability to focus for more than a few hours at a time before he had to succumb to sleep, Crowley had been feeling lighter than he had for years. The weight that hung around his neck had been slashed in half, the usual black tornado of guilt that lashed against him dulled to a steady, steely grey. It was still there, yes, and he didn’t doubt it always would be, but it was lessened now: a roar muted to a background hum.

He knew Aziraphale was behind it, that the angel had taken all that he could, that he had smoothed the chasms into cracks, soothed the bruises from angry purple to a patchwork of fading yellows and greens. It was something he never could have asked of him, something he never would have wished on him but, nevertheless, he couldn’t deny the comfort it brought him for a sensation other than guilt to be the first thing he felt each time he woke.

In that moment, though, standing by the window as the sun set over the Earth below, as he turned and saw Raphael hover nervously in the doorway, round-shouldered and afraid, Crowley felt that dark shadow of guilt he knew so well swell at his feet.

He had often dreamed of the archangel, had fallen into painful reveries of how things might have been different if he had stayed in Raphael’s office instead of following Lucifer on that fateful day. He had wondered how it would feel to have a moment alone with them, to sit beside them once more, to remember how it felt to be cared for by a guardian who wanted only your happiness and safety above all else. Crowley had rehearsed what he might say to the archangel if they found themselves face-to-face again but all of those carefully prepared speeches dissolved into nothing but staccato breaths and limbs rooted to the spot as the Raphael carefully approached him.

They looked older, forehead and cheeks lined with worry, silver grey hair curling just below their shoulders, eyes steady but alert. This was not, Crowley realised with a pang of stark understanding, the Raphael he had left behind in heaven. This was Raphael after millennia of loneliness, of fear, of carrying the weight of all that had happened, shouldering responsibility for all those who had remained in heaven.

Raphael crept forward, head bowed and eyes cast downward, hands clasped together as if they might be praying, though Crowley knew better than that now. All the demon could do was watch, breathless and overcome and barely able to believe that Raphael, the only guardian he had ever known, the one he had turned his back on, was standing there before him. He opened his mouth to speak, found himself silent as he waited for the words to come. Then Raphael reached for his hand and clasped it between their palms, offering him a small smile as tears gathered in their eyes.

“Crowley?”

Crowley heard himself laugh in wonder, felt tears on his cheeks. “It sounds so strange hearing you say it.”

“It’s your name. It’s _your_ name.” Raphael looked down, allowed a moment to sniff away tears and steady their breathing. “I…”

They tried to speak again, stumbled over sentences they had spent centuries rehearsing just in case they were ever gifted a moment to set things right. They trailed off, eyes shining as they swallowed deeply, willing themselves to get it right. This time, at least.

“I’m sorry, my little one. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to protect you.”

It was all they managed before great desperate sobs rose up as they looked Crowley in the eye for the first time, and there they found nothing but warmth in the demon’s eyes as he reached forward to pull them close.

“I let you down,” they cried, forehead flush to Crowley’s chest as they felt the rhythmic beat of the demon’s heart against their skin. Alive, despite everything. “I’m so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have stopped him.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around the archangel’s shoulders, felt the shudder of Raphael’s chest against him as they cried, apologising through their tears for things Crowley had never, could never have held against them. They felt so small, bird-boned and slight, that Crowley found himself crying for everything he had missed, for all the centuries they had been forced apart, for all the subtle changes he had missed as the archangel had grown old. He felt a wave of sorrow for all of those years they would never get back, compounded by a wave of joy for every moment that they would still get to share, however brief they might be.

“No, no no. No tears, we’ve lost so much time because of him, let’s not lose any more,” Crowley whispered, pulling back to wipe Raphael’s tears away with his thumbs. He smiled down at the archangel, stroked back a lock of grey hair that was stuck to their wet cheek. “ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I never said goodbye to you. I’m sorry I walked away, I’m sorry I left you here alone. I’m not sorry I did what I did; I believed in it then and I believe in it now. There _is_ a better world, my dearest friend, and I’ve been lucky enough to see it. We have so much to fight for, together.”

“I lost you, both of you.” Raphael closed their eyes at the reference to Lucifer, chest heaving as they pressed their fingers to Crowley’s back, reassuring themselves that he was really there, that this wasn’t another one of those painful daydreams.

“We’ll find them,” Crowley promised, as Raphael looked over the demon’s shoulder at the painting that hung above their desk. “Before this is over, we will find them, Raphael.”

Raphael nodded, swallowing a knot of emotion and clearing their throat as they stepped back. They placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek, smiling at him with all the pride of a parent watching their little one bloom. “I am so very proud of you, Crowley, of everything you have become.”

“Because of you.” Crowley hugged them again, taking their hands in his and nodding to reinforce his words. “I never forgot what you taught me. Patience, rebellion, hope, kindness. I never forgot. Those four words saved my life, in their own quiet way.”

***

“This was the third time I made a spectacle of myself in this bloody room.” Crowley laughed, turning in a wide circle and looking up at the pristine ceiling, adorned with celestial frescoes that the demon found new details in every time he looked upon them.

“Mmm,” Raphael hummed, eyebrows raising in amusement. “You haven’t had the best of luck in here.”

“Let’s count down the greatest hits, shall we?” Crowley asked, enjoying the way his voice bounced off of the walls, spinning around them in an echo. How freeing it was to raise his voice in heaven’s halls, to shout and laugh about the past, instead of cowering in fear of what might happen if he spoke out of turn. It was the greatest sense of catharsis to walk there with Raphael and talk about those dark days as an abstract memory of the past. “First, the crowning glory of the Bad Days I’ve Had in Heaven triad. I fell. I stood right here and then, well, I wasn’t standing here any more. We all know how that ended. Then, in second place, we have that day I stood here and stupidly, naively, idiotically thought that _maybe_ Gabriel wasn’t the purple-eyed wanker we all believe him to be. We all know how that ended too. Banned _again_. Didn’t quite make it to hell that time but there was the ole condemnation to death, so we can’t overlook that. Then, bringing up the rear, I appear to have been belched out from the underworld, half dead, let’s not forget, back into the place that I usually leave by plummeting downwards at a rate of knots. And do you know the worst part? This is only my second-least favourite room in this godforsaken place. What does that tell you?”

“Heavens, I’ve missed you,” Raphael said, fingers clasped around Crowley’s forearm as they paused on their walk through heaven’s halls to stand in the place where the demon had found his way back to heaven just days before. “Do you remember…anything?”

“Only bits and pieces.” Crowley sighed, lips pressed together in frustration as he tried to remember anything other than snatches of memory: darkness, bodies, stars going out above him, the fear of forgetting how it felt to speak Aziraphale’s name. “I think… Raphael, I think somebody helped me. Somebody brought me back into the light.”

Raphael nodded, thinking back to Aziraphale’s description of the memory he had seen in Crowley’s heart: _There was somebody down there who knew he didn’t belong._

They turned then to look up at the windows, the demon and the archangel who had been too quiet for too long, and there was something about the echo of a presence left in the room, in the way the light streamed in through the glass that left them staring at each other in wonder, hope shining in their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good afternoon my dears! I hope you've all had a suitably lovely week, what have you all been up to?
> 
> For those of you on the other side of the Atlantic, I hope you have a relaxing day tomorrow, however you'll be spending it. Mostly, I'm begging you to tell me every detail of your food plans because we all know I'm an Aziraphale when it comes to food.
> 
> I'm so enjoying writing Part IV and it's made me so happy to read all of your lovely comments each week. I actually only have three weeks left of work in 2020 so I'm so excited to spend my Christmas break doing all the writing ready for 2021!
> 
> I'll be back as normal next Wednesday with the next chapter, where we'll see how things are progressing in heaven...as well as seeing how some of our favourite humans are doing!
> 
> Have a great week everyone <3


	5. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not about the biscuits, Crowley!”

**July. Whittington Hospital, London. The New World.**

“…and the blueberries, you won’t forget the blueberries, will you? Oh, and the shallots! They’ll be…”

“Ready in a few days. I know, I know. Your very detailed instructions are never out of my thoughts, I promise.” Anthony raised an eyebrow, wondering whether the fridge magnet had managed to hold fast throughout the day or if he’d be returning to the flat to find Mick’s tome of allotment guidelines scattered across the kitchen floor again.

“That moment of interest you had in growing veg the other month was fleeting, was it? Maybe you can ask Gloria for help if it’s getting a bit much. There’ll be a glut of courgettes any time.” Worry dawned on Mick’s face as he flicked through the photos on Anthony’s phone, dutifully taken of every square foot of the allotment to keep him up to date with his beloved vegetable patch’s progress while he looked on from afar from his hospital bed.

He would be allowed back home any day now, so the nurses had told Anthony when he’d arrived for visiting hour that evening, just a few more days of keeping an eye on his progress and he’d be able to finish recuperating from his own bed. It was nothing short of a miracle, they said, that the knife missed his heart on that dark night when the world seemed to stop for a moment. Still, a chest wound was a chest wound and there was still a way to go, though the kindness Mick had dealt out throughout his life was coming back to him twofold and there wouldn’t be a day of his recovery that would be spent alone.

“Well, maybe you can ask her yourself. She’s been visiting an awful lot, hasn’t she?” Anthony smiled knowingly, looking down at the photo Mick had lingered on, where Gloria (accompanied by Nigel, of course) was busy showing off just how well Mick’s rows of beetroot were coming along. “Show her your scar next time, makes you look tough.”

Mick promptly deposited Anthony’s phone into his lap, harrumphing grumpily as if he had absolutely no idea what he might be insinuating. Anthony continued to smile, batting his eyelashes until Mick looked up, blushing. “How is she, er, how is she keeping?”

“She’s very well, bumper harvest of cherries on the way apparently. We’ve had a lot of chances to chat at the allotment. She’s very worried about you, you know?”

Mick sighed, lips pressed together as if he didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. He was alive, wasn’t he? “No need for all that…bother. I’ll be out of here by the end of the week, back at the allotment the week after that and then you won’t need to get your delicate hands dirty again, will you?”

“I don’t know about that.” Anthony paused, picking a half-moon of dirt out from under one of his nails. “Getting quite fond of digging about in mud looking for potatoes.”

“Potatoes?” Mick bellowed, white knuckles gripping the sides of his bed in panic. “What are you _doing_? They won’t be ready for another three weeks!”

“All right, all right, don’t pop your stitches, your potatoes are fine. I’ve got it all under control, trust me.”

As he gave Anthony a long, hard look, Mick’s expression could be described as dubious at best. A moment later he reached for Anthony’s hand, his face suddenly serious. “How are _you_ , though, son?”

“I’m fine. We’re fine, really.”

“Head still…?”

“Foggy? A bit.” Anthony tutted, wondering when the last few weeks would come back into full focus. They were almost there, his memories, but there was still the odd day unaccounted for, as if he might have slept right the way through it. Acute stress, the hospital had said, common enough in the wake of a traumatic event. It didn’t _feel_ like stress, though, it felt like…something else, something neither he nor Zira had been able to put into words. “Bits and pieces are still…off, here and there. Near enough back to normal though, for the most part.”

From behind Anthony’s chair, the door handle squeaked as it jiggled up and down, elbowed into action from the other side by Zira, who promptly bustled in with three cups of tea clutched between his hands and two KitKats in his mouth. He deposited both tea and treats onto the little table that swung over Mick’s bed, sitting back in the chair beside Anthony’s. He nodded down at the KitKats.

“I’m sorry, Mick. They didn’t have a regular one so I got chunky. Then I saw they’ve brought the peanut butter ones back so, well, you know.”

Mick leaned forward in excitement, one hand braced against the bandaged pad against his chest. He tore into the first KitKat, popping the other in the drawer next to his bed for later. “Oh, lovely. Thanks, son.”

Zira went to speak, then closed his mouth and nodded awkwardly. Beside him, Anthony looked down at his watch.

“Time to go,” he announced, taking Zira’s hand as the two of them stood up to leave. “Same time Wednesday? Lily will be here tomorrow. Look after yourself, old timer.”

As the door to Mick’s room swung closed behind them, Anthony chuckled under his breath, squeezing Zira’s hand. “You got that peanut butter one for yourself, didn’t you?”

Next to him, Zira pursed his lips noncommittally, choosing dignified silence as his answer.

***

**Heaven.**

When Crowley opened the door to Raphael’s office to find the biscuit tin laying open on the desk, Remi’s hand rummaging around inside for a ginger and pistachio treat, the demon was hit first by a wave of shock and then the sharp cut of betrayal. He wondered if it was how humans felt if they had the misfortune of walking in on their lover entangled with another. Still, he supposed there were more pressing matters at hand so swallowed the urge to stuff the interloper’s gullet full of biscuits until he cried out for reprieve. Character growth, he decided smugly.

It had been a week of sleep and frustration for the demon and angel, respectively, and they had tried every conceivable way to wring information out of Raphael. The archangel, true to form, had remained resolutely steadfast, simply shaking their head and promising they would tell them everything in time but that, for now, the only thing that concerned them was gaining their strength through rest and relaxation.

Crowley was content to take Raphael’s word for it, sleeping through the nights and, come to mention it, most of the days too. He would wake to spend an hour or two in Aziraphale’s arms, basking in the relief that another day had gone by without their whereabouts being discovered by Gabriel. As the days passed, Crowley began to wonder if, against all odds, heaven really was the safest place for them. After all, it was the one place Gabriel would never think to look.

Aziraphale, conversely, had no time to sleep. The angel had declared himself fit for work and was eagerly awaiting _something_ to do. Without a job to attend to, heaven was an overwhelmingly dull place to exist in, particularly when miracles were still banned. _Not yet,_ Raphael had said with a brisk shake of the head, _just give it time, a little while longer, be patient, Aziraphale._ The angel had taken great offence to that, drawing himself up to full discorporated height and huffing at the notion that he, who waited six thousand years for a single kiss, could ever be described as impatient. He settled down, eventually, after he remembered who he was talking to, but his frustration at the lack of information about what in the world might come next was growing day by day.

“Ah, there you are.” Raphael smiled, rising from behind their desk and gesturing for Crowley and Aziraphale to sit down next to Remi, whose eyes were widening with every step the demon and angel took towards him. The archangel slid the biscuit tin in Crowley’s direction, shaking it gently until a creamy, buttery biscuit lay atop the others. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better, definitely. Hungry, though.” Fleeting sense of betrayal pushed aside, Crowley reached for the biscuit and took an eager bite, a low moan escaping his lips as he closed his eyes. He smiled to himself, taking another bite and deciding no biscuit had ever tasted as sweet. “Worth the wait.”

As Crowley glanced down at Remi in the way one might observe a ladybird scuttling across their forearm, Aziraphale reached out for a biscuit just as Raphael replaced the lid and tucked it in the top drawer of their desk. The angel sighed. _So close._

“This my replacement then?” Crowley asked, nodding towards Remi and utterly failing to keep an icy tone from his voice.

“There’s no replacing you, little one. You are all wonderfully unique.” Raphael touched a hand to Crowley’s cheek, then smiled at Remi encouragingly. “This is Remi. He’s been the heart of everything that’s transpired since…”

Nobody finished Raphael’s sentence as the archangel trailed off; the words were best left unspoken. A moment of contemplation passed before Remi piped up, both hands pressed to his knees in excitement as he grinned at Crowley.

“Hi!”

Crowley pursed his lips, trying to suppress a flare of jealousy as he jabbed a thumb in Remi’s direction and fixed Raphael with a look he hoped the archangel could decipher. “ _This_ is the future?”

“So they say,” Remi said, with a happy little smile that even one of the hell’s own couldn’t fail but be charmed by.

Crowley laughed under his breath, reaching out to squeeze Remi’s shoulder and wondering how it could be that the little angel had spent all those years in heaven without growing disillusioned, how his smile had managed to remain so bright despite everything he must have endured. Perhaps it was the knowledge he was working to bring about change that had helped him survive, the demon pondered.

Tentative introductions done and dusted, Raphael clapped their hands together and raised their eyebrows at Crowley and Aziraphale. “Well, no time to waste, is there? Stand up, you two.”

Aziraphale took that opportunity to let out a long, low sigh, as if he was entirely fed up with these mysterious shenanigans and he expected answers _immediately_.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely they’ll give you a biscuit,” Crowley murmured behind his hand.

“It’s not about the biscuits, Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed, turning his attention to Raphael. “Look, all of this _cloak and dagger_ nonsense needs to end. We came back to help, not to be left in the dark. We’re the only ones here who have survived a face off with Satan so I think it’s only polite that you fill us in on the plan.”

“Quite right, Aziraphale,” Raphael said, nodding, to the angel’s great surprise. “You’re right, we have left you rather in the dark and I’m sorry for that but we needed to wait, just to be sure everything was safe. I can keep you hidden from him, for a while at least. It won’t last forever but it will give us a head start on things. I’m afraid the time will come when Gabriel seeks you out but, for now, we have time. You will know everything, I promise you, but the less you know, the safer you are. Please trust me, I only ever want to keep you safe.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply but Crowley gave him a soft kick and shook his head. He stood up obediently. “We understand.”

“Now, who wants a new body?” Remi asked, clicking his fingers and brandishing finger guns in their general direction, as if he’d just pitched a sale that was impossible to say no to.

“Thank you, Remi.” Raphael rose from their desk, resting a hand on Remi’s shoulder as they came to stand in front of Crowley and Aziraphale. “Time to give you back those corporations you’re so fond of. Slightly tougher ones, this time. Hopefully. You were always damaging the other ones, after all.”

“So clumsy,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath, glancing pointedly in Crowley’s direction. The demon responded with a swift elbow to the ribs but Aziraphale barely noticed, as a thought almost too exciting to comprehend dawned on him. “If you’re keeping us hidden from Gabriel does that mean…will our miracles be undetected?”

From his place on the other side of Raphael’s desk where he was hastily miracling the top drawer open in search of another snack, Remi looked up and nodded in answer, beaming.

***

Crowley had been given a body just once in his existence, so long ago he could barely remember how it had felt for his soul to join forces with the physical realm. _Fizzy_ was a word he’d used once before. Not painful, just…like a leg waking up after going numb. He remembered the paperwork more than anything else. That was hell’s way, of course. Meticulous to a fault.

This time around, though, there was no paperwork in sight, just Raphael standing in front the two of them with Remi off to one side, looking curiously back and forth between them as if he might be about to witness something terribly exciting. Crowley was tempted to put him out of his misery and point out the two of them would just go from…wibbly wobbly to less wibbly wobbly but as Remi hadn’t spent any time around humanity he might not even know the difference. Plus, Crowley wasn’t one to rain on another’s parade. Unless they’d annoyed him. Remi might be a little too wide-eyed and enthusiastic for Crowley’s liking but there was something about the inquisitive young angel he found charming, and familiar.

“This isn’t my forte,” Raphael said, looking from Crowley to Aziraphale as they prepared themselves for what would come next.

Then, as if on cue, Remi burst as if he couldn’t possibly stay silent for a moment longer. “Does this mean I'm going to get a body too?”

Raphael chuckled. “Yes, little one. When we go down to Earth you and I will both need bodies. Now, let’s get these two back they way they belong.”

With their eyes closed and the others rapt in reverent silence, Raphael centred themselves and slowly raised their hands as if they were tugging energy up from the world below. This was _not_ how Crowley remembered the process but then when had hell ever tried to match up to heaven’s theatre?

The demon let his eyes drift closed and felt that telltale numbness in his limbs, replaced by a tingle of static that ran from his feet up through his calves and thighs, up through his back and shoulders, wrapping around his neck and making the journey back down through his chest and stomach, knees and ankles, ending at his feet.

It was done.

Crowley sighed with relief. He’d forgotten how _comfortable_ it was to inhabit a body, how still his soul felt when it had walls to bounce off of. He felt contained, safe. He looked down at his hands, found himself frowning at a gold ring on one of his fingers.

_Wait…_

He reached up to feel his cheeks.

_This isn’t right…_

His fingers climbed up, twisting around soft curls that felt light as air. He looked across to his right, found his own shocked face looking back at him.

“Raphael… _what did you do_?”

Crowley watched himself speak. Only he wasn’t the one doing the speaking. Aziraphale was. In _his_ body.

“Oh…” Raphael trailed off, one hand covering their mouth as they gasped in shock. “Oh, I… I don’t know what happened. It’s been… Well, I’ve never worked with corporations. That was my first time.”

“Not that we’re not enamoured to have been a _test run_ but can you switch us back?” Crowley asked, recoiling at the way his own words sounded in Aziraphale’s voice. He sounded so…snippy. Perhaps _snippy_ wasn’t actually one of Aziraphale’s defining characteristics, perhaps it had just been his accent that whole time. Six thousand years of being misunderstood. Crowley almost felt a dash of sympathy for his sweet soulmate, then corrected himself, as if anybody could trounce him in the _woefully misunderstood for six thousand years_ stakes.

Raphael swallowed deeply, glancing nervously from Crowley-in-Aziraphale’s-body to Aziraphale-in-Crowley’s-body. “I don’t think I can. I think I would have to discorporate you.”

“Then blast us to kingdom come and _rebuild us_ if you must, I can’t stay up on these…stilts,” Aziraphale demanded, staggering a pace to the left on Crowley’s long legs.

The demon raised an eyebrow, giving Aziraphale a withering look. “Come on now, they’re not _that_ long.”

“How in the world do you manage to stay upright on these things? Is this why you walk the way you do?”

“I _told_ you I couldn’t help it,” Crowley shot back, before turning his attention to the archangel standing before him. “Raphael, if you don’t switch us back… I can’t deal with his histrionics for the rest of eternity.”

“They’re just bodies, at the end of the day,” Raphael tried, giving them both a hopeful smile. “I’m sure after a while you’ll get used to them.”

“No! I will _not_!”

“Switch! Us! Back!”

Raphael sighed, grinning at Remi as they clicked their fingers. “All right, all right, if you _must_ ruin my fun.”

Another jolt of energy coursed its way around Crowley’s body and he looked down a moment later to find himself looking at a familiar pair of black snakeskin boots.

_Never thought I’d be so pleased to see you, you scraggly old devi_ l, he thought, folding his arms and grippingthe sides of his jacket in a little self-hug that was over before anybody could have noticed. Beside him, Aziraphale was giving himself his own little _welcome back_ by fussing with his hair and brushing imaginary lint off of his waistcoat.

“ _Thank_ you,” Crowley muttered, trying to keep the smile out of his voice as he saw the twinkle in Raphael’s eyes. It had been a long time since he had seen the archangel brave enough to exercise the more mischievous side of their usually sombre personality.

“Yes, thank you for that, Raphael.” Aziraphale tutted, biting back his own smile. “Oh, it’s good to be back. Six thousand years in this thing and I was rather sad to be parted from it.”

“Right, first thing’s first,” Crowley announced, as if anybody else in the office might have had a clue what he was talking about. “Seeing as we’re finally a-okay on the miracle front, I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

It had felt like eons since he had felt safe to perform a frivolous miracle, though the reality was only a few short months, but there was no time to waste. Crowley clicked his fingers once, twice, ten times, and suddenly Raphael’s office was teeming with wriggling, warm little bodies complete with floppy ears and wet noses.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Aziraphale took a sip from a quietly miracled cup of cocoa and cuffed Crowley on the shoulder, trying to at least keep a semblance of disapproval on his face as ten chubby puppies swarmed Raphael’s office, yapping and jumping up and scrabbling for attention.

It was as if heaven had finally earned its name, as Crowley hunkered down onto the floor and let himself be enveloped by his furry little creations. Even Raphael let out a quiet gasp as they knelt down to run one finger along the back of a shy Irish wolfhound puppy that had chosen the bottom of their robes as a comfortable resting place while the others played.

“Are these…?” Remi trailed off, not waiting for an answer before he dove to the ground and dissolved into laughter as he was promptly ambushed by two particularly enthusiastic little hounds.

Crowley looked up, winking at the little angel as he realised perhaps he had found a true ally in this biscuit tin interloper.

“My dear, we have more pressing matters at hand,” Aziraphale said gently, trying and failing to suppress the urge to crouch down next to Crowley and join him in the restorative art of puppy snuggles.

The demon rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I just thought we could all use the morale boost. If hell taught me anything it’s the importance of team-building.”

Reluctantly, he braced his middle fingers against his thumbs as he prepared to miracle the puppies away. For the time-being, at least.

“I’ll see _you_ after the end times.” Unable to resist, Crowley pointed at one particularly fluffy pup, committing its face to memory before he clicked his fingers and the four ethereal entities found themselves alone once again, spirits undeniably buoyed ready for what would be their final days in heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, friends! I hope you're all doing well and have had a cosy, fun week - and if you didn't, I hope this week is infinitely better for you.
> 
> Posting a little earlier than usual this week but I hope you enjoyed today's chapter; it was so lovely to get back to writing Anthony and Zira as well as Crowley and Aziraphale. I feel very lucky to get to write both sets of characters at once :D.
> 
> I'll be back as normal next week with chapter six, where we see our favourite demon and archangel reminiscing about the 'good' old days, among other things!
> 
> Lots of love <3


	6. Hometown Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes. He did seem rather tetchy when I asked him to stop trying to unlock my desk drawers this morning. Said he was looking for the biscuit tin but I think he lied right to my face.”

**Heaven.**

“Is it true that humans can eat up to _three_ times a day?”

“Been watching David Attenborough’s humanity specials, have you?” Crowley asked, chuckling partially at the idea of heaven’s angels crowding around a television to learn more about the Almighty’s creations, partially at Remi’s blank face staring back at him.

Glorious silence. For a moment, at least.

“Is it true that they draw pictures on their skin that never disappear?”

“Like this?” Crowley asked, turning his cheek so Remi could get a good look at the snake tattoo in front of his ear. “i didn’t get this on Earth, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think the humans were inspired by _us_ on that count, actually.”

Remi reached out as if he wanted to touch Crowley’s skin, shrinking back at the last moment. “Did it hurt?”

Crowley stopped then, one hand finding its way to his hip as he paused in recollection. “You know, Remi, I can’t actually remember. I had bigger problems than the tattoo. Well, it’s a brand, not a tattoo, let’s call it what it is. It’s to show who I belong to, what I am on the inside. In case I ever forget. We all have them. Mine’s just…very much on display.”

“You don’t belong to them,” Remi said quietly, gaze flicking from Crowley’s tattoo to his eyes. He spoke again a moment later, voice more sure than before. “You don’t belong to anybody.”

“You’re right.” Crowley smiled, nodding thoughtfully as he continued walking, Remi trailing determinedly in his wake.

There was a beat of silence and the demon wondered if perhaps Remi’s curiosity had finally been exhausted. Then a little voice piped up from beside him and he realised that wasn’t the case.

“What’s a hangover?”

Crowley answered as best he could, though his explanation led, inevitably, to another barrage of questions, including hits such as:

_“Why do they drink alcohol if it makes them sick?”_

_“Why don’t they learn from the first time if it makes them feel so bad?”_

_“What does it feel like to be drunk?”_

After alcohol they moved onto cooking, one of Remi’s favourite topics. The little angel had a particular interest in food, which struck Crowley as noteworthy, given that he had never tasted anything other than a biscuit from Raphael’s office. Still, the demon wasn’t lying when he said they were the best biscuits he’d ever tasted; he just hoped the angel wouldn’t be disappointed when he realised that biscuits were the pinnacle of all cuisine.

After cooking came fashion and after fashion came another of Remi’s favourite topics: sleep. It was after Remi’s third question about what it was like to dream that Crowley found himself speaking through gritted teeth until, at last, he was rescued by way of Raphael appearing next to them.

“Is this what it was like trying to deal with me?” Crowley asked, sighing.

“Oh, you were far worse, little one.” Raphael smiled, linking arms with the demon and giving Remi a squeeze on the shoulder. “They wanted to talk to you this morning, Remi. Have you got time now?”

Eyes lighting up with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, Remi nodded and dashed off towards the staircase that led down to heaven’s lower halls. Crowley waited until he disappeared from sight before turning his attention to Raphael.

“What was that all about?”

“Never you mind. All in time.” Raphael nodded in the familiar way that had become synonymous with a frustrating lack of information and Crowley pursed his lips, sighing.

“Lucky you said that to me and not Aziraphale. One more _never you mind_ and he’s going to lose it, trust me.”

“Yes. He did seem rather tetchy when I asked him to stop trying to unlock my desk drawers this morning. Said he was looking for the biscuit tin but I think he lied right to my face.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Crowley laughed, tightening his grip on Raphael’s arm as they walked on through heaven’s halls towards the panoramic windows on the main atrium that looked across the skies into the stars beyond. They had sat there untold times, many moons ago, watching the stars shift and glisten under the moonlight, and had taken to spending their mornings there each day, talking and laughing and healing after all of those lost years.

***

“Do you remember when the three of us would play Spot the Star?” Crowley asked, chin flush to the palm of his hand as he propped his elbow up on his knee.

It was a game they had lost hours to, returning to time and time again whenever they needed to escape for a while. Huddled in a semi-circle in front the window, they would turn their backs on heaven and play the game simply for the joy of it. No work, no agenda, no consequences, just fun. It was a precious commodity in heaven, growing rarer by the year until, eventually, there were no more games to play, nobody for Raphael to escape with.

“They would always say we were ganging up on them, remember?” Crowley laughed, struck by the sudden realisation that it was the first time he had thought about Lucifer without an immediate sting of pain in his heart. It crept in a moment later, as grief is wont to do, but that brief moment of happy nostalgia had been a welcome respite.

Next to him, Raphael nodded along, smiling at the memory, though tears welled in their eyes. “They said we had an unfair advantage because we created the galaxies. Always went quiet when we pointed out they had spent more time in the stars than any of us, didn’t they? They… No, Lucifer. I mean Lucifer.”

It was the first time they had said Lucifer’s name in the presence of another in…how many years had it been? A century? A thousand years? More?

There was a pause, a moment of recovery at the sound of their name, and then Crowley placed his hand over Raphael’s. “Lucifer always hated to lose.”

“They weren’t made for losing.” Raphael looked up and Crowley was struck again by how tired they looked, how ready they seemed to be for the end. “Neither were you.”

“You will be with them again,” Crowley said, determined. He didn’t know _how_ he was going to make good on that promise, he only knew that he would. Somehow.

There was silence in heaven for the first time since its inception, Crowley realised. Gone were the crowds, the streams of angels filing from office to office, going about their holy work, compliant and righteous. Heaven’s halls had never been without the click of footsteps, dropped voices whispering rumours of sin and dissent. It was as eerie was it was peaceful, to sit there in that great cavernous hall and hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

“I can’t be with them again.” Raphael spoke finally, gaze turned outward to the pillows of clouds that lay beyond the window, voice as faraway as if they were speaking to the sky instead of the demon by their side.

 _Of course,_ Crowley thought, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he searched for the right words. _Of course they don’t believe it. I barely believed it for myself even in the moments Aziraphale would promise me._ In the end he decided in favour of honesty over false hope. “I don’t know where they are. None of us do. I don’t know how we’re going to find them but I can promise you we will never stop trying. You _will_ be with them again.”

“No, no, it’s not that. How can I stand in their presence after I let them suffer alone for all of this time? I was a coward, little one. I let them stand there and be punished because I was too afraid to speak out. I don’t _deserve_ to be with them again.”

Crowley knew guilt more intimately than most other beings in existence. He had lived under guilt’s black shadow for millennia, knew the way it drained away happiness and joy and self-worth, pinpricks in a bucket letting out drop after drop until, suddenly, there was nothing left. When he looked at Raphael again he saw it. The guilt. The tired eyes, the weary posture, the hunch of exhaustion as they curled into themselves in shame.

“And what would have happened if you had stood beside them that day?”

“Something.” Raphael threw one hand up in frustration, let it fall back against their knee with a low _thud_. “Something else. I could have taken it. The exile, the punishment. Perhaps Gabriel would have spared them if I’d stood in their place.”

Crowley tutted, shaking his head kindly. “You know that isn’t true, archangel. Nothing you could have done would have changed what happened that day. If you had stood with them heaven would have lost both of you, and what then? What would have happened to Aziraphale? To Remi? How many others did you save when you decided to stay? How many hundreds of others did you shelter as best you could? Sometimes those who stay behind are the bravest of all.”

***

It was strange, Crowley thought, to revisit the place you grew up in with the ambivalence of age. He had loved heaven, he had hated it, and now he found that he didn’t think much of it at all. It wasn’t the grand paradise he had once believed it to be but it wasn’t the pious playground of oppression either. It was just a place that had memories attached to it. Some were good, some were even better than good, some were maddening, some left him prickling in fear. Heaven, like everything else, Crowley had come to realise, wasn’t good or bad or perfect or evil. It was something in between, something bigger than a single descriptor. He had been shaped here, for a time, and then he had continued to grow elsewhere, and then elsewhere again.

There was something cathartic in wandering through heaven’s empty corridors and realising he didn’t feel any pull to the place. There was no desire to return to the days _before_ , no desire to travel back in time and correct old mistakes, no regrets of words unsaid. What good would it do to live in his memories and dream of the roads not taken? He had chosen his path, he walked it as bravely and honestly as he could, and that, Crowley understood, was enough.

He sat on the edge of the stage that had sealed his fate twice before, feet kicking out into the air and crashing back against the smooth plinth. The sound echoed around the empty hall and the demon smiled, waiting for the noise to boomerang back to him.

The first time he fell had been so sudden that it was over before he had time to understand what had happened. He had been standing there, eyes trained ahead as he tried so hard to block out every word that fell from Gabriel’s lips, and then he had woken up in the darkness. Life in heaven, over in a second.

The second time hadn’t been sudden at all. In fact, Crowley would go so far as to say it had been exactly what he expected. He knew finding forgiveness in heaven was an outside chance. His heart had sunk when it became clear Gabriel had never had any intention of granting him absolution, more out of worry for Aziraphale than for himself. He had let the angel down. Again. One last mistake to ensure they would never be together. And then something entirely unexpected had happened, hadn’t it? Aziraphale had turned his back on his history and stood side by side with a demon, ready to die beside him if that’s what it took. Heaven wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it had been Aziraphale’s home and he had walked away from it without a second glance. Crowley smiled, remembering how it had felt to watch Aziraphale defy Gabriel, Michael, even heaven itself.

“What, may I ask, are you looking so happy about?” Aziraphale asked, bracing his palms against the smooth surface of the stage as he prepared to swing himself up.

“How long have you been here?” Crowley reached down to offer him a hand, pulling the angel up until they were standing near enough on the exact spot where they had been condemned to die on Earth.

“Not long.” Aziraphale brushed a speck of dust off of his lapel. “I was looking for you.”

Crowley smiled, taking the angel’s hand. “You found me.”

“Like I always will.” Aziraphale leaned towards him and there, on the same stage where they were told to denounce their love, an angel and a demon kissed in plain sight, unafraid.

***

“Ah, Aziraphale, do come in.” Raphael waved the angel inside and nodded encouragingly at the chair that lay in front of their desk.

Aziraphale had sat in that very seat untold times over the past six thousand years but he still couldn’t quite shake the notion that he was about to be told off for something. Raphael had always been warm, friendly, if a little distant, but that had never stopped Aziraphale wondering what he might have done wrong, as if all of the luck he’d been dealt over the centuries might have finally run out.

“Can I ask you something, Aziraphale?”

Although Raphael was still giving him that encouraging look, Aziraphale braced himself for the worst. What had he done? Had he broken some unspoken rule without realising? Had he somehow jeopardised whatever plan Raphael had been carefully working on for so long? Had he done something to rescind his and Crowley’s safe passage through the horrors of the end times?

“Mmmhmm?” Aziraphale tried to smile, worried that it came out as more of a grimace, as if he was a dog ready to fight back in fear when the inevitable danger arose.

Raphael leaned forward, smiling warmly as they tugged the top drawer of their desk open and placed a battered tin between them on the desk. “Would you like a biscuit?”

***

“What’s his _secret_ , Raphael?” Aziraphale asked, dunking the last half of a miraculously conjured bourbon into the softly steaming mug of tea he was holding.

Opposite him, Raphael followed suit, laughing delightedly at the newfound joy Aziraphale had taught them. The archangel left the biscuit in the warm liquid for a second too long, and they watched the edges of their biscuit crumble away and tumble sadly into the depths of their drink.

“Ah, shame. You need to be quick with hobnobs. Here, try this. Good starter dunker.” Aziraphale fished around in the tin, eventually producing a smooth cream-coloured biscuit and passing it to Raphael, who frowned as if they were entirely unsure.

“A rich tea? I’ve always found them a little…bland.”

“Well, here’s where you’ve been going wrong all these years.” The angel nodded down at Raphael’s cup. “Go on, give it a go.”

The sound that came out of the archangel’s mouth was halfway between a gasp and a groan and all they could do was close their eyes and savour the taste, before reaching for another biscuit. “Sorry, Aziraphale. What were you saying?”

“Hmm, I was asking about Remi. What’s his secret? His purpose? He seems so…green. So naive. Is it safe to trust him with all this?”

For the first time since Aziraphale had entered the office, Raphael’s face grew serious, their mouth a thin line as they pushed their cup of tea to one side. They fixed the angel with a stern look, as if it was the one and only time they were prepared to discuss the matter. “Aziraphale, mark my words, not a single one of us has earned their place here more than Remi. I would trust him with my life, with all of our lives. The fact you’re sitting here today is because he put himself on the line every day to allow me the space to search for you. You owe him a great deal. We all do.”

Aziraphale nodded meekly and began to reply, though he was cut short by heavy footsteps thudding down the corridor. Raphael raised a finger to their lips and mouthed two words to the angel before they rushed out of the office: _stay quiet_.

 _This is it_ , Aziraphale thought, closing his eyes and hoping beyond anything else that Crowley would stay hidden, that his presence wouldn’t be detected by whoever the footsteps belonged to. _This is when they find us. This is how we’re caught._ _It was only a matter of time._

“Solider.” Raphael’s voice filtered down the corridor and Aziraphale swallowed, trying to keep his breathing steady and silent.

There was the sound of muffled voices, formal greetings giving way to something Aziraphale couldn’t make out. The conversation was short, sharp and then, to the angel’s deepest relief, the footsteps retreated and Raphael returned alone.

Aziraphale waited as they sat down, dropping a partially uncurled scroll onto the desk as they held their head in their hands and let out a low, heavy sigh. Eventually, he could bear the silence no longer. “What is it?”

Raphael looked up, and for the first time in a very long while Aziraphale saw genuine fear in the archangel’s eyes. “It’s a summons from the archangel Michael. My presence is requested on Earth. It’s time for us to leave heaven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you and your loved ones are all well and enjoying the more wintry weather. I'm doing good on my side, just counting down the days until I have a break from work over Christmas!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter; it's really fun to get to share more of Remi's character and I'm really excited to post the next chapter next Wednesday. Some location changes will be afoot soon enough! Next week is actually the last chapter I'm going to post this year, so after next week I'll be taking a three week break and will be back on the 6/1 with the next act of this part!
> 
> See you next week, lots of love! <3


	7. Outgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love and gentleness, it’s not going to be that kind of a world any more.”

**Heaven.**

“Look, Raphael, we’ve got a bone to pick with… Oh, hello, Remi.” Crowley lowered his outstretched finger and forced a smile as Remi looked up in interest at the sound of raised voices. Crowley and Aziraphale had been hovering outside Raphael’s office door for five minutes, bickering about which of them should be the one to air their mounting grievances. Eventually, after many laboured points from Aziraphale, it was decided that, as the one whose eyes could do the _demonic flashy thing,_ it would only be appropriate for Crowley to play the role of bad cop.

“How can I help you, Crowley?” Raphael asked politely, clasping their hands atop the desk and smiling serenely at the demon, who stood red-faced in the doorway.

“Well, if I’m honest, we are _sick_ of being left in the dark. You say you’ll tell us what’s going on and then it’s _oh, let’s get you some bodies, oh, let’s have a biscuit dunking competition,_ anything to distract us. No more! We want to know and we want to know _before_ we leave heaven.” Crowley finished his carefully-scripted rant, puffing slightly with the exertion of it all.

Opposite him, Raphael simply nodded briskly. “I see. Well, you’d better take a seat. Remi, would you mind…”

“Say no more.” Remi jumped up, palms bared in a show of understanding. “I’ll just…tidy my wings or something.”

“Great!” Crowley beamed, hanging out of the doorway and hollering down the corridor. “Angel? Angel! We’re in! Come on, before they change their mind.”

Aziraphale arrived in the doorway a moment later, forehead gleaming as he caught his breath. “I’m here! Did I miss anything?”

“Please,” Raphael said gently, placing one hand on top of Crowley’s and the other atop Aziraphale’s. “I know it’s difficult to be in your position. I know you both want to help but you have to understand why we must keep certain things from you. You’re very vulnerable, both of you. If Gabriel, _when_ Gabriel senses you, the safest thing is for you to know nothing at all.”

“Safest for who?” Crowley asked.

“For everyone.” Aziraphale sighed, nodding slowly in understanding. “The less we know, the less of a target we’ll be and if the worst does happen, the less we can be forced into confessing.”

“A little less delicate than what I was going for, but yes. Our highest priority is keeping lost souls to a minimum. Turns out it’s rather tricky to navigate the end times without losing anybody but, well, we’re doing what we can.” Raphael smiled sadly and, for a moment, their words hung in the air like a foolish echo.

“Can you at least tell us what happens next?”

“We leave heaven, I keep you hidden on Earth and meet with Michael to honour their summons. After that, I’m afraid, is the part where heaven and hell destroy each other. Either that or we fail again and try once more in a few millennia, destroying a different world in the process.” The archangel leaned back in their chair, throwing a hand up in frustration as they stared out of the window, watching the clouds turn steely in the sky. “Mindless, all of it. Endless bloodshed. They don’t even know what they’re fighting for any more. Pain and death and vengeance just because it’s the Great Plan. Or the Ineffable Plan. Or the True Plan. Who knows any more?”

“And what will happen to you?” Aziraphale asked quietly, pale blue eyes wide as he looked up at the archangel. “After the end?”

“I will go, as we’ll all go in time. Perhaps I’ll go back to Her. Maybe Lucifer will be there waiting for me, if I’ve been good enough.”

Crowley sucked in a breath, reaching for Raphael’s hand. “Of course you have been. You’re the only good thing left about this place.”

A low laugh, accompanied by a quick shake of the head. “No, no I’m afraid I’ve never been very good, little one. A coward, really, when all is said and done. Not like you, both of you.”

“No, it was different for you two than it was for us.”

“It wasn’t, little one.” Raphael rested a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s cheek. “I could have stood on a stage too. I could have spoken my love aloud. I let the only one I’ve ever loved fall in front of my eyes. I did nothing, Aziraphale, except turn a blind eye, and look where that has got us all. My greatest hope now is that, perhaps, if I can do this right, I can get everybody back to Her after the end. It’s my last responsibility, to get everybody home.”

A look passed between Crowley and Aziraphale: a thousand words unsaid, a hundred unspoken promises over a very long lifetime. Home. It was what it all came back to in the end. Crowley inclined his head ever so slightly, a gesture so minuscule it was seemingly impossible to read but then Aziraphale nodded in agreement and the two of them turned back to Raphael.

It was Crowley who spoke. “What if going home didn’t mean going backwards, what if it meant looking forwards?”

Aziraphale nodded, his hand finding Crowley’s and giving it a squeeze of agreement. “Haven’t you wondered where we’ve been? There’s a whole world out there, Raphael, a new world. It’s ours. We came back to save it. We came back for you, all of you. The end of days, the end of the Earth, it doesn’t have to be the end of everything.”

“You did it.” The archangel laughed in wonder. “I knew you would do it. When you never came back, when so much was missing…”

“I can’t wait for you see it. There’s so much work to do, great big chunks of it just…empty. I’ve already got so many ideas, I was thinking…”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Aziraphale hissed, elbowing Crowley in the ribs. “There are not _great big chunks_ left empty. Just a few tweaks needed here and there. I don’t see you creating an entire world from scratch, my dear.”

“It’s perfect. It’s perfect and you’re perfect.” Crowley paused to kiss Aziraphale once, twice, three times, until he softened. He turned his attention back to Raphael, voice rising in excitement as he unveiled their master plan. “We thought, you know, nip back here, grab you, Remi can come too, I suppose, find Lucifer, destroy Gabriel by whichever means take our fancy when the time comes, we have _options,_ and then we head home. Sorted. What do you think?”

“I think you are as creative as you always have been, little one, and I think it’s become more important than ever to protect your sweet souls. There’s no place for you two here. Love and gentleness, it’s not going to be that kind of a world any more. You need to leave, sooner rather than later.”

“Not until he’s gone. No until we know our world will be safe.”

Raphael nodded, the beginning of a smile forming about their lips, as if they might have let themselves believe, just for a moment. “I will get you back home safely, I swear to you. I’m just sorry I could never make you a safe home here.”

“You gave us everything we needed to make our own home. We were never going to be right for this world.”

“We were never wrong.” Aziraphale leaned forward, pressed his lips to the demon’s jaw. “They were.”

“And what will become of the humans, what happens to them at the end?” Crowley asked, looking out of the windows down, down, down to the pinpricks of humanity continuing to live as if the world wasn’t about to crumble around them.

“You took them with you, the ones left behind. The sinners, the misfits, the ones who never quite made the cut. You gave them a new home, some of them, at least. They’ll be safe there with you two watching over them.”

“Come with us,” Crowley said, voice soft and afraid to hear the archangel’s inevitable answer.

“I don’t think I can do that, little one. I’ve come to the end of the time I’ve been given, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale swallowed, wondering idly if he had once carried the same soul-deep sadness that had been drowning the sweet archangel since the day they had lost their love. He reached out to hold Raphael’s hand, thin and light in his own. “I took you as well, you know.”

“Am I happy?” Raphael asked eventually, gripping onto the angel’s hand as if it had suddenly become an unexpected lifeline.

“Sickeningly so. And loud, _so_ loud.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, chuckling as he thought back to Raphael’s human presence in the new world and all the exuberant joy that followed them from room to room. _I miss them,_ he realised.

“They’re there with you too,” Crowley added. “Luci. An artist, of course. In love with the light, obsessed with it. Can’t get through a dinner party without pulling out a sketch book to capture the way the dust catches the light.”

“Oh, I…” The archangel sucked in a breath, leaning back against the desk as they lost themselves to emotion for a moment. A new life. A _real_ life. Together, at last. A life they would never get to live themselves but, even so, a fraction of each of their souls had come to know happiness together. “Thank you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled, holding his hands up in innocence. “It wasn’t me. Some things are simply meant to be, so they say.”

“This will be the last time we find ourselves together in this room.” When Raphael spoke their voice was heavy with emotion, an ineffable mixture of yearning for roads not taken and the bittersweet acceptance that their time was nearly up. The archangel reached for Crowley, hugging him tightly as if it was the last time they might get the opportunity. They held his face in both hands and smiled delightedly, kissing him on the forehead. “Don’t ever stop asking questions, you sweet, maddening thing.”

Crowley looked away bashfully, at once uncomfortable but revelling in the praise. “You really have always been the best of them.”

“ _You_ , both of you, you are everything we should have been. You are everything She wanted us to be. Oh, how could I forget?” Raphael raised both eyebrows, snapping their fingers and plucking a heavy sword from the air as if it might have been hanging there the whole time. A replica of the flaming sword Aziraphale had once wielded. Almost.

“Oh, actually I think I took mine with me when…”

“This one isn’t for you. It’s your sword’s companion, of sorts.” Raphael turned instead, handing it to Crowley. “I had this ready to give you a long time ago, little one. Every Principality needs a sword.”

“Me?” Crowley asked, laughing in disbelief as he took the sword. He closed his eyes, sent the blade swinging through the air and felt the rush of heat as flames ignited on its smooth, black surface. “Finally.”

“Protect them. Keep them safe. But not too safe. Let them live. They’ve taught us so much: love and creativity, resilience. We owe them the freedom to explore it. They never had that here, not in a world of black and white and binary absolutes. Life exists in the spaces in between, in the grey areas, in the mess. You,” they said, taking Aziraphale’s hand. “You will teach them restraint, kindness, introspection.”

Aziraphale nodded, swallowing tightly as he watched the archangel turn to Crowley next.

“And _you_ will challenge them. You’ll teach them patience, survival, hope.” Raphael took Crowley's hand and there they stood, an angel and a demon, as the archangel taught them one final lesson. “Together you’ll teach them it’s love, over everything else, that wins out in the end.”

***

 _This is where I learned about fear._ Aziraphale sighed, hovering in the doorway of the room that had, until Remi’s recent takeover, been Gabriel’s office. One foot in, one foot out, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to take that final step towards confrontation, even if nobody else would be there to hear it.

“Well,” he said eventually, stepping over the threshold. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

It was quiet inside the office. Still. As if somehow the room was at peace. It had never been the room that had made him shrink back in fear, only the presence that occupied it. Without Gabriel’s darkness looming larger than any other figure in heaven, the room was just a room. It was quite pretty really, those big windows letting the light stream in, thick beams of sunlight catching specks of dust that kicked up from the floor as Aziraphale walked further in. The desk, dark and grand, was empty aside from a mug of half-drunk tea Remi had forgotten to miracle away. Below the window a frame leaned against the wall, discarded and left to ruin. Perhaps it had fallen down in the chaos of Gabriel’s army departing heaven. Aziraphale bent low to pick it up, found the ornate frame had once held a mirror, now only clung to a single shard that reflected the angel’s own face. He heard a crunch beneath his shoe, looked down to find he was standing on a shattered slash of glass. The ground was littered with them, as if the mirror might have been cast down in a tempest of fury and left to learn its place.

“What did he see?” Aziraphale murmured the words aloud, stroking a finger down the edge of the golden frame. He turned it in the light, looking for another world Gabriel might have seen, found nothing but himself. He shrugged. Perhaps it had been as simple as an accident. He put it back where he had discovered it and the curious artefact from Gabriel’s past was soon forgotten in the angel’s mind.

“I used to be so afraid of coming here,” he began, voice growing braver with every word as he paced about the office, revelling in the joy of feeling nothing at all until he was shouting his words into the silence, arms cast wide and taking up every inch of space he had been too afraid to occupy for so many centuries. “I’m not afraid. Not any more. I’m happy. I’m not afraid of you. I'm free.”

***

Raphael sat on the edge of their desk where the Morningstar used to sit, ankles crossed against the plush velvet seat of Raphael’s chair as they rummaged through the biscuit tin in a quiet moment of togetherness. The archangel sighed, running both hands across the smooth, empty surface of their desk. They had packed their papers away one by one, folding them neatly into a stack that lay uniformly in the drawer underneath the desk. It didn’t much matter, they supposed, leaving the office clean and tidy. Still, walking away from a half-finished job had never been their strong suit.

They looked out of the windows, let their gaze roam on the skies that circled heaven, eerily tranquil. The calm before the final storm. It would be the last time they saw the skies around them. Every view of the sky from that day on would be from below, staring up in wonder at the magnitude of what She had created. What lay beyond those skies? Paradise? A wasteland? An empty book ready to be filled with dreams and second chances?

“I know you’re somewhere. I feel you even now, after all of these years. I think of you, as I said I would, whenever I see the moon or the sea or the sky. I find you in all of it, in every piece of existence, my love.”

Old bones complaining at the effort, Raphael eased themselves off of the desk and stood facing the painting, Lucifer’s gift. _The First Night on Earth,_ as beautiful in that final moment as it ever had been. The archangel traced a finger across the painted waves and pressed a kiss to the churning water, rebellious, restless, dangerous. Beautiful.

They padded slowly to the doorway, the battered biscuit tin cradled under one arm the only memento they would take with them for the final days. As they stepped outside of the place the had once been heaven’s only safe haven, Raphael paused in the doorway and looked back at the painting for the last time, making one final promise.

“I will find you, my Morningstar.”

***

In heaven’s deserted halls, three angels and a demon stood in a haphazard circle, clasping each other’s hands as they gathered themselves for what would come next. It was a goodbye. A final goodbye, they all knew that, to the place that they had loved and feared, resented and protected for so long.

“Where are we going to go first when we get there?” Remi asked, eyes alight with excitement at the new adventure that lay just moments away.

“Leave it with us, little one,” Crowley said, winking at him. “We know just the place.”

An angel and a demon smiled in agreement and then the four of them were gone, leaving nothing but a dying echo in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, heaven, try not to let the end times smack you on the way out!
> 
> Today's chapter fell really nicely on this week as it seems like a good place to pause for a Christmas break (and my birthday is tomorrow so it's all tied in rather neatly). I'll be back on January 6th with the next chapter, which feels like months away but is actually only three weeks. 2020 time is weird. I'm spending Christmas plotting out the rest of the story but we're not actually a million miles away from The End, mad!
> 
> I've updated the Part IV playlist with today's chapter songs so if anyone wants to check that out you can do so here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BTpd6UhHNJpQzRliXZlZD
> 
> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments, kudos, chats and support you've given me all year. It's truly a joy to get to share this with you. Like it has been for everybody, 2020 has been quite A Year and having this story and a weekly posting schedule has been such an anchor to keep me together through everything that's been going on.
> 
> I'l be hanging out in the comments (and on Twitter if you follow me there) over the next couple of weeks but, just in case I don't speak to any of you before then, I hope you all have a safe, happy Christmas, however you're celebrating it this year, and I'm excited to be back in January to share more chapters and side stories with you all. Oh, and don't even think about *not* telling me every detail of your Christmas feasts because you know I need that pertinent info!
> 
> Lots of love, Carly <3


	8. First Day of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gestured to the sofa, as if inviting two friends in for coffee rather than shepherding an angel and archangel into the Earth’s last refuge.

**Anthony’s Flat, London. The New World.**

Zira smiled. He had tugged the curtains open an inch when he’d briefly left the bedroom to feed Barnaby and give him an obligatory morning head scratch. It was a rare treat to be awake before Anthony, whose jittery energy and go-go-go schedule never let him sleep much past dawn. The dog walker lay asleep in his arms and Zira watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, wondering how one might define the colour of early morning sunbeams that stole into a quiet room and turned everything aflame.

Every line he wrote in his head felt hollow. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps some things were innately unknowable: early morning light, the gentle warmth of a lover in your arms. Love itself, of course. Undefinable, unexplainable, ineffable.

The undefinable had never sat well with Zira. He enjoyed definitions, boundaries, neatness and clarity. He had existed for so long within strict walls of his own creation, defined parameters to keep him safe. And then there had been Anthony. Unexpected, wild, perfect. The bookseller reached down to press a kiss to his temple, felt the warm pulse of life beneath his skin. How remarkable it was, he reasoned, to be alive.

After those dark hours spent pacing the hospital corridors, Mick’s blood still soaking through their shirts, Zira had found himself revelling in the simple joy of existence. For the rest of that terrifying night he had been fraught with worry, convinced that every doctor or nurse who emerged onto the corridor had come to deliver the news that left him feeling frozen with dread. In the moment when they had finally been allowed in to visit Mick: pained, exhausted, bleary-eyed but, miraculously, alive, Zira realised he understood, perhaps for the first time, the meaning of family.

Since the doctor had assessed them both and given them a clean bill of health, though told them to keep an eye on those stress levels and to come back if the brain fog got any worse, Zira had found himself walking with an unmistakeable spring in his step. The sky shone bluer above them as they strolled through the park, hand in hand as the dogs cantered to and fro, stirring up tornadoes of grass and troubling the squirrels. The sun was a fat disc of fire that seemed at once gentler and warmer than it had before, her soft rays illuminating everything in sight until the city seemed to glisten in the summer heat. The flowers Anthony brought home each weekend from the market smelled sweeter, Barnaby’s snout burrowing into the crook of his elbow when he was in desperate need of attention felt softer, and the love he felt for his soulmate burned deeper and brighter than it ever had.

“Morning, you,” Zira whispered, brushing Anthony’s hair back from his forehead as he stirred, blinking sleepily against the light.

The dog walker replied with a slow smile and a sigh of contentment as he pressed his chin to Zira’s chest and looked up at the bookseller. “Good morning yourself.”

***

“Angel?” Anthony asked, pausing to swallow a mouthful of buttery toast. He chased it with a slurp of tea and then continued, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as if he was sounding out each word in his head before he committed to speaking it. It betrayed his usual mode of operating at breakneck speed, leaving Zira instantly suspicious. “This might sound strange… Well, I suppose everything from the moment we met has had an undertone of strange but I feel like something’s missing.”

Anthony watched the bookseller take a moment to dissect exactly what he might have meant by _something’s missing_ , to run through the options and decide which eventuality was the most likely. As it turned out, each of Zira’s imagined sojourns down the potential paths of their conversation was obstructed with a firm _No Entry_ sign and he emerged none the wiser. “What do you mean, my dear? Have you lost something?”

Anthony shook his head, lips curving up into a smile as he stretched up to kiss Zira’s soft cheek. “No, no it’s not like that. Well, actually, maybe it is. This sounds mad now I’m saying it out loud but ever since that night…”

The phrase _that night_ did enough heavy lifting on its own without either party needing to vocalise the details of the night they had spent pacing hospital corridors, fists clenched to try and control trembling fingers, waiting and waiting and waiting to find out if Mick would pull through. There was a beat of silence as Zira filled in the gap for himself and then nodded for the dog walker to continue.

“Ever since that night I feel different, like something’s shifted, like something’s changed that I can’t grab hold of. I feel like I lost something that night, or maybe I found something. I’m not sure which. I just know something changed, and it’s not just about what happened, something in _me_ changed that night. It sounds stupid, I know.”

“No.” Zira reached out instinctively, warm fingers searching for comfort and finding Anthony’s thigh beneath the sheets. “No, it doesn’t sound stupid. I felt it too, like I was suddenly here but not here. It was as though there had been white noise playing in my mind that just…stopped, as if suddenly I was alone. I know they said it was stress. They’re probably right, my love. They know more about this than we do.”

“Mmm. I do feel…slower now. I never wanted to take my time before. I thought it was a waste. I panicked if I stood still for too long, as if something might get a chance to gain on me. Harder to hit a moving target and all that. I think maybe I could get used to strolling instead of sprinting.”

Zira laughed, taking Anthony’s plate and setting it down on the bedside table with a clatter that disturbed the rather large pigeon who had been napping on the windowsill outside. “Will we ever agree on anything? Just as you’ve learned to slow down I think I’ve learned to speed up. I always felt like there was a symphony in my mind. Each instrument was a different choice, every note a different step I could take. I felt as if I had to listen to each one before I could make a decision. It was paralysing. Too many choices, too many potential disasters, so I just froze. I stayed still. You thought being a moving target would make you harder to hit, I thought being a statue would make me invisible.”

“Equal and opposite,” Anthony mused. “something has been trying to pull us apart at the same time something else has been pushing us together. Every time we took a step back something nudged us forward.”

“And every time we took a leap of faith something hauled us back from the edge. Two forces working against each other.”

Anthony’s face grew dark for a moment, and he found himself tracing the sweeping arcs of Zira’s collarbones with one finger as if a single other choice might have made that simple act of affection impossible. “We almost let the wrong one win.”

“Not again, not ever again.” The bookseller shook his head, smiling as he closed his eyes to bask in the morning sun. “After all of this unpleasantness I think we deserve a treat. After the bookshop opens and we’ve got an extra pair of hands around the place what do you think about taking a holiday, my love?”

“That sounds awfully tempting, where did you have in mind?”

Zira gestured lazily towards the window. “Somewhere warm, somewhere we can sit in the sun and eat lunches large enough to require a nap.”

Anthony thought for a moment, spinning a globe in his mind and waiting for the perfect destination came to him. He thought of pretty sunlit squares, of lazy mornings that slipped suddenly into raucous nights fuelled by wine and laughter. “What about Italy? Or France? There’s always Spain.”

“I wondered what you thought of Morocco.” Zira sighed, the imagined scent of rose and apricots and sandalwood as intoxicating as if they had already arrived. “I’ve never had the chance to go but the _food_ , my dear, do you know I’ve often dreamed of it?”

“All the tagines you can imagine.” The dog walker laughed, pulling himself out of bed and stretching up, up, up until his shoulders cried out for reprieve. “Now, you have a job advert to list so we can actually take this holiday, and I have a dog to walk and a song to finish.”

“Yes, of course!” Zira clapped his hands together in glee. “Do you think today’s the day you'll finish it? I’m so proud of you. Look at you, my creative genius.”

“Less of the genius, more like adequate-on-a-good-day. All those years fiddling about playing other people’s music, about time I worked on something of my own creation. Maybe I can rope the others into playing with me, eh?”

***

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

Dawn had begun to break when four celestial rebels touched down in London, days before the world would end. Two had led, two had followed, and all four were left silent as they stood in the doorway of the one place on Earth that could still be called home.

The flat had remained empty since Crowley and Aziraphale had bid it farewell on the morning of the rapture, whole-heartedly believing they were walking away from it for the last time. Fate being the comedian she was, it turned out the angel and demon would, once again, be spending their final days on Earth in the safe haven they had affectionately dubbed the Love Nest.

A sprinkling of dust had settled on the visible surfaces, giving the living room a strange muted feel, as if somebody had turned the saturation down a notch. Grubbiness aside, it was all still there, untouched, exactly as they had left it. The statue stood proudly in the corner, one of Crowley’s soft black scarves still hanging from the demon’s wingtip, Aziraphale’s hat perched neatly atop the angel’s head. On the centre of the coffee table lay two upturned glasses with matching spoons balanced on top of them, a dainty sugar bowl and a now-empty pitcher. It would have been a seemingly non-sensical collection of items, if not for the dusty bottle of green liquid that stood at the head of the table, waiting patiently to wreak its merry havoc.

“Oh…” Aziraphale let out a breath, reaching up to cover his nose and mouth with one palm as a tear slipped down his cheek. He reached for Crowley’s hand, felt the demon squeeze his fingers tightly.

“I told you,” the demon whispered as he turned to the angel, damp-eyed and smiling. “Something to look forward to if we come back.”

“I told you it was _when_ , not _if_.” Aziraphale corrected him with a laugh and the two of them stepped further into the flat, rushing to the bottle of absinthe and holding it up to the light as if it was a thing of wonder. The angel set it back down, clicking his fingers once to leave the coffee table free from dust and gleaming in the dawn sunlight.

“Awful, wasn’t it? Some things you really only need to try once.” Crowley flicked one finger against the bottle and gave an involuntary shudder, remembering the pounding head, fuzzy tongue and bone-crushing anxiety that had accompanied his post-absinthe-party hangover. “Absinthe, fermented shark, oyst-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Aziraphale looked sharply over his shoulder at the demon, then turned back to his work of restoring the flat to its former glory. One catch-all miracle would have sufficed but Aziraphale had missed the joy of doing whatever he wanted with a snap of the fingers, and so his cleaning mission had been broken down into as many minor miracles as he desired.

While the angel busied himself with cleaning, Crowley turned to Remi and Raphael, who were hovering quietly in the doorway. He gestured to the sofa, as if inviting two friends in for coffee rather than shepherding an angel and archangel into the Earth’s last refuge. “Come in, you two. Make yourselves at home. Tea, anyone?”

“This was your home?” Raphael asked, taking a wavering step forward as they peeked curiously at the statue.

“You mean Aziraphale didn’t fill you in during your heavenly gossip sessions?” Crowley leaned out of the kitchen, waggling a finger at the angel before disappearing to attend to the tea. The demon had taken things one step further than Aziraphale, opting to make tea the long-winded way, the human way. It was a way to ground himself, he realised, to potter about in his kitchen, dusting off the kettle and tutting at the tea stain that hid at the bottom of one of the mugs he pulled from the cupboard. To take things slowly, to serve tea for friends as if it was a casual Sunday afternoon was the sort of mundane luxury Crowley knew would be in short supply soon enough. That said, he did stretch to a miracle to procure milk, lest he risk Gabriel snatching him from the Tesco Express down the road.

With four mugs of steaming tea balanced on a tray, Crowley made his way back into the living room just as Remi was addressing Aziraphale and Raphael with a look of infallible sincerity on his face, one foot held aloft.

“When my foot touches the ground again I’ll have taken my first step on Earth. After all this time…” The little angel trailed off, overcome with emotion as he looked down at the neat parquet flooring beneath his foot.

“All right, Samwise, if that’s got you on the brink of tears wait until you try a proper cup of tea.” Crowley laughed, setting the tray down and waving for Remi to join them in that most soul-restoring of group activities: sharing a cuppa with family.

***

“Are you here?” Crowley called out to the empty parking garage, shaking his head and chuckling when he realised he’d been holding his breath, awaiting a response. _Never quite sentient enough to speak, were you?_

The demon slid his sunglasses up into his hair, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the underground car park, mouthing the numbers sprayed onto the tarmac in front of each parking space. Was it too much to hope, he wondered, that his most beloved possession might be waiting there for him, as perfect as she ever had been? He had been treated a jaunt with her twin in Aziraphale’s new world but nothing could ever replace the original; his pride and joy, his baby, his…

There she was.

Covered in a smattering of dust but otherwise unaffected by a year of solitude, the Bentley hummed to life as Crowley rounded the corner, her engine purring with unmistakeable affection, rear lights illuminated in welcome.

“Oh, look at you,” Crowley cried, biting his lip and brushing flecks of dust from the roof of the car, clicking his fingers to finish the job as he slid into the driver’s seat. He leaned back against the headrest, laughing gleefully as the radio buzzed to life just in time to play the final chorus of _A Kind of Magic_. As one song ended and another began, the car shifted into reverse expectantly but Crowley sighed, shaking his head and relaxing his grip on the wheel. “Not today, I'm afraid. Soon, I promise. How do you fancy taking to the streets to mow down a certain purple-eyed bastard?”

A sharp rev of response rumbled up from the bonnet and the demon chuckled, patting the dashboard with affection. “I’ve missed you, old girl.”

***

“Aziraphale?” Raphael called, leaning forward to get a better view as the angel scurried to and fro from the bedroom to the living room, carrying various plant pots in his arms, each housing a rather crispy specimen.

The angel had been muttering desperately to himself ever since Crowley had left to check on his car, and had assembled what appeared to be a graveyard of plants on the windowsill behind the sofa.

“Dead. Dead. All of you, dead. Couldn’t have kept yourself watered for him, could you? It’ll break his heart. I asked you _very_ nicely to keep yourselves thriving while we were otherwise engaged. Oh, honestly, et tu, Freddie?”

“Aziraphale?” Raphael tried again, twisting in their seat to look at the rows of neatly arranged but spectacularly dead plants that lay behind them. No response. Sighing, the archangel tried one last time, raising their voice until they bellowed so uncharacteristically even Remi looked up from where he had been busily rifling through the TV unit in search of a DVD to watch. “Aziraphale!”

The angel jumped, freezing in his tracks as he emerged from the bedroom with a sad little palm in his left hand and something that might have previously been a cockscomb in his right. “No need to shout. What is it?”

“Instead of staging a mass burial, might you rejuvenate them a little before he gets back?” Raphael spoke gently, in case the angel’s shock at the plethora of dead plants rendered him a little slow on the uptake. When they spoke again, there was teasing judgement in their voice. “I must say, I never had you down as a plant bully.”

Aziraphale choked out a sound of indignation, slamming down the two plant pots and then giving them both a little stroke of apology in case Raphael was still watching. He stormed back around the sofa and stood in front of the archangel, hands pointedly on his hips. “You think _I’m_ a plant bully? Just you wait until…”

There was a crash from behind them as Crowley slammed back into the flat, chest heaving with emotion in the doorway in the wake of his tearful reunion with the Bentley. He scanned the room for the familiar scattering of pots, keen for one more reunion before the day was through. “Where are my leafy babies? Where’s Freddie?”

Raphael glanced pointedly at Aziraphale, who rolled his eyes and let out a little huff of frustration, disappearing behind the sofa and snapping his fingers. In a flash he popped back up with a pot in one hand, Freddie the anthurium’s leaves now a beautiful lush green. “Here he is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so happy to be back I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas break, however you managed to celebrate. Tell. Me. About. The. Food!!! I actually cooked an all-vegetarian Christmas dinner this year and it was delicious! Some other home made culinary highlights over the break were a lottttt of cheese boards, mulled wine, smoked ham (decidedly non-veggie), creamy potatoes, baked brie-en-croute, veggie sausage rolls, Baileys and white chocolate tiffin...and way too many other things :D.
> 
> I had lots of time to relax, I read a bunch of amazing books (I really recommend Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, it's absolutely wonderful!), had Zoom birthday and Christmas present openings and film nights with my girlfriend, and virtual reindeer racing with my family on Christmas Day. I also wrote the first two chapters of 2021 so it was great to get a little bit ahead of myself as I'm back to work next week.
> 
> I hope you've all had a safe, relaxing few weeks and I can't wait to hear all your news. I really hope you enjoyed today's chapter and I'll be back next Wednesday with the next instalment. Lots of love <3
> 
> P.S. I've tried to make the switch back and forth between the celestial and human storylines as clear as possible but if anyone is finding it confusing please do shout in the comments and I'll have a think of how to differentiate more clearly in future chapters!


	9. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a funny twist of fate that it was the archangel Michael, out of everybody, who inadvertently granted Raphael’s wish.

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

“Are you sure about this?” Aziraphale peered out of the window, eyeing the pavements below as warily as if Gabriel himself might be standing there waiting to intercept them if they dared leave.

Raphael nodded. “I’m sure. It won’t hold forever but it will keep you safe enough for now. They won’t know we’re here and they won’t sense you, as long as you don’t stray too far. No further than we’ve agreed.”

Both the angel and archangel shot Crowley a warning look as Raphael finished speaking and the demon held up his hands in protest. “Yes, all right. No further than we’ve agreed or heaven and hell and everything in between will get the memo that we’re back. I get it.”

Raphael nodded, satisfied, and Aziraphale went back to glancing nervously out of the window. Crowley turned back to Raphael, watching as the archangel paced back and forth in front of the television, much to Remi’s chagrin. The little angel ducked his head to and fro, mouth pressed into a thin line of frustration as he tried his best to follow the storyline on screen despite the interruptions.

“Hey,” the demon murmured, voice low as he reached for Raphael’s elbow and guided them away. “It will be okay. No funny business. Not from my end, I promise. Are you sure this isn’t taking too much out of you?”

Raphael shook their head, waving Crowley’s concerns away as they smiled brightly. “No, no. Don’t waste your energy worrying about me. I’m just old, little one, that’s all.”

A day had passed since the four of them had made their way to Earth and Crowley was already pining to visit his forests, if only to say goodbye. Aziraphale, though keen to see what might remain in the ruins of his bookshop, had voted to stay hidden in the flat until the end was, well, nigh enough that they had no choice but to leave. It was Raphael who had brokered a compromise, offering both angel and demon a chance to revisit their most sacred memories on Earth, providing they stayed within the limits of the glamour the archangel had placed on them. It was a small radius of safety, all things considered, but it allowed Crowley the freedom to roam far enough to visit at least one of his forests, while keeping Aziraphale’s nerves in check.

“Ready?” Crowley asked, shrugging into his jacket and hovering one hand over the door handle. He couldn’t bear to be cooped up for one more moment, craving fresh air and nothing but the outline of trees and the horizon in his eye line.

Aziraphale sighed, wringing his hands as he shot Raphael a look. The archangel nodded their reassurance and, all out of excuses, Aziraphale backed reluctantly away from the window. “Yes, yes, just give me a moment, my dear.”

“Now, you’re not going anywhere, are you?” Raphael rested a hand on Remi’s shoulder, smiling as the angel nodded silently, refusing to take his eyes off of the television screen.

“We mean it, Remi. Do. Not. Leave,” Aziraphale warned, voice stern as he joined Crowley in the doorway, looking back at Remi as if they were two disgruntled parents trusting their teenager to have a _quiet_ weekend alone.

“Why would I leave?” Remi asked, hitting the _pause_ button on the remote as he finally looked up. On the TV screen, Del Boy and Rodney were freeze-framed mid-caper. The angel had taken quite a liking to Only Fools and Horses. Nobody knew why. Remi gestured first to the television, then to the bowl of warm popcorn in his lap, then to the sea of empty food containers that littered the coffee table in front of him. “This is paradise!”

“Wait until you discover baths.” Aziraphale smiled, closing the door to the flat and leaving the little angel alone to enjoy his first taste of paradise.

***

Aziraphale hadn’t expected much to remain of the original A. Z. Fell and Co. but he found himself breathless at the sight of the charred shell of his shop. There were no safety cordons, no warning notices, nothing. It was as if the shop had always sat there on the corner of Greek Street, broken down and tainted with soot. Londoners walked past with headphones on and their heads bent low to their phone screens, as if it was entirely commonplace to see a stress of ruined buildings in the centre of the city.

As the end times approached it _had_ become commonplace, Aziraphale realised, as he looked around and discovered the bookshop’s fiery fate wasn’t unique, or perhaps the others were unfortunate collateral damage. Half of the shops on the street were burned to the ground, leaving only a graveyard of splintered wood and shattered window panes as evidence that anything had ever stood there at all. If they hadn’t been destroyed by fire they had been closed after the irreparable decay of flood damage, until only two buildings remained open on the street that Aziraphale had occupied for so many years.

“Come on, you can’t stand here all day,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, straightening the hem of his waistcoat and taking a deep breath of courage as he crossed the road to say goodbye to A. Z. Fell and Co. one last time.

There was no smell of smoke in the wreckage, which struck the angel as strange until he remembered the shop had burned down months ago. It explained why the passersby outside hadn’t given it a second look. It had become part of their commute, just another ruined dream they walked past every day on their way to work. With every footstep Aziraphale took he reduced another stack of pages to ash until there was nothing but a trail of charcoal left in his wake. There were the first editions, of course, the clothbound rarities and the classic favourites that he had collected so carefully. It was sad to lose them, as if each one was a memory plucked from the stars and burned to a crisp in front of him. But what of the true antiquities, the personalised copies, the curiosities of which only a single copy had remained? _How many stories died here,_ the angel wondered, _how many millions of words are lost forever?_

Aziraphale picked his way into what had been the back room of the shop, passing carefully through the doorway that remained precariously in tact. A floorboard groaned wearily beneath his foot and the angel jumped back, before chastising himself with a tut and continuing on until he stood in front of two blackened armchairs, melted fabric gummy in the sunlight that peeped in through the gaping holes in the roof. The angel had always thought seeing his precious collection of books destroyed would be the hardest part of returning to the bookshop but it was finding his and Crowley’s first real refuge ruined by heaven’s cruelty that left him blinking back tears. They were just armchairs, the angel knew that, but they stood for so many memories, so many nights that he and Crowley and spent slowly falling in love by candlelight, curled up in front of the fire and nursing a bottle of wine as they set the world to rights in hushed voices.

How many others, Aziraphale pondered, had found themselves standing ankle deep in soot and decay, wondering why it was their home, their business, their possessions that had been taken from them in what humanity had come to poignantly describe as an Act of God? The Tribulation was a test, one last chance for humanity to atone for their sins before their souls would be deemed worthy or unworthy, but as he stepped back into the front of the shop and kicked through the rubble in search of anything that might have survived, Aziraphale smiled humourlessly as he wondered if heaven had ever stopped to consider how the Almighty might judge their actions, their souls, in the wake of their cruelty against her Earth?

The angel had resigned himself to leave empty-handed when the toe of his shoe scuffed against something solid, buried beneath a stack of crumbling pages. He bent low, sighing at the ash that coloured his hands as he sifted through to find the one survivor of the fire. His hands clasped around a book, wonderfully solid and in tact, and he pulled it free.

“Of course. There you are,” Aziraphale said, laughing. He held the muddy green book aloft and swept a thin coating of ash from the front cover until the gold lettering shone through proudly: _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter._ The angel swallowed a tight ball of emotion, wondered with amusement if perhaps Agnes Nutter’s book might just be the sole survivor of the end of days. Along with cockroaches. And Cher, of course.

Back in the relative fresh air of Soho, Aziraphale hung in the shop doorway for a moment, resting a hand against the one pillar that was still standing as he watched the world go by. He had often stood by the shop’s windows and watched the hustle and bustle outside, safe in the familiar cocoon of his bookshop. It wasn’t so safe any more, of course. In a funny change of heart he found himself breathing more easily outside with only the sky above him. Perhaps Crowley had been right about that.

Across from the remains of the bookshop was a bar, one of the only places of business that remained open on Greek Street. A rainbow-striped flag hung from one side of the balcony, a caricature of a plague doctor mask from the other, and fanning down from the first floor window was a sign that read: _Yes, we’re still open! One for the road before the apocalypse? Make it two: happy hour daily from 4-6!_

***

Raphael had always yearned to see humanity’s great works of art in the flesh. They could see anything they desired with a simple thought, of course, but it wasn’t the same. It felt disrespectful, almost, to sit lazily in heaven and summon everything they wished to be laid out before them. No, it had always been one of the archangel’s secret wishes to conceal themselves as a simple appreciator of the arts and spend time travelling from gallery to gallery, flitting around the world as a dedicated spectator of all things beautiful.

It was a funny twist of fate, then, that it was the archangel Michael, out of everybody, who inadvertently granted Raphael’s wish.

The archangel had slipped into the National Gallery unnoticed, standing stock still in the central hall and marvelling at the sheer joy of people streaming in around them, arm in arm as they slipped notes into the donation boxes, highlighting key works on their maps, clamouring about which exhibitions they couldn’t bear to miss.

 _The end of everything is days away,_ the archangel thought, _this world has been ravaged by fire and flood and plague and test after test and yet their love of life remains, art remains, beauty still remains. What a tragedy that it’s only now, as this world’s final death rattle sounds, that I get to know you at all. I’m sorry, little ones, that there is nothing we can do to stop this happening to you. Thank you for filling Her world with so much life, so much laughter. If we hadn’t remained up there in our ivory tower for so many millennia perhaps we could have learned something of life from you._

They walked from hall to hall, letting themselves be drawn to whichever works of art tugged at their soul, demanding they step closer and consider the colours, the shapes, the jagged lines that spoke to frustration, the soft curves of comfort, the smiling faces and furrowed brows and grimaces and smiles of life after life, imagined and real, captured in painting after painting. The archangel smiled up at towering triptychs, leaned in close to the early sketches of the masters, committed the information plaques to memory as if they were there simply to enjoy a sunny Saturday afternoon of art and storytelling.

There were more pressing matters at hand, of course; Michael would be waiting for them in the southwestern corner of the Sainsbury Wing, according to their summons, and they would not tolerate lateness. There was still time, though, and Raphael intended to spend every moment of it assuming the identity they might have had if the deck of fate had dealt them a different hand. _Yes,_ the archangel thought with a rueful smile, _I would like to have lived this life._

They moved into the next room, letting out a chuckle that echoed around them as they read the first information board: _The four paintings in this room are 'Allegories of Love' by Paolo Veronese, each concentrating on a specific aspect. In turn, they seem to deal with Unfaithfulness, Scorn, Respect and Happy Union, although their precise meanings remain unclear and have been much debated._

“Well, I must say I prefer my own four aspects.” The archangel raised their eyebrows, wondering if their own four allegories of love might have been a little more idyllic than the reality of scorn and unfaithfulness, before deciding in favour of their own optimistic view of things.

They passed through another room and then found that they stood in front of a towering depiction of heaven, all winged cupid resting daintily on clouds, bright golden light emanating from Christ’s divine presence. Clad in soft rose robes with neatly folded wings, the angels were truly lovely and woefully misrepresented, Raphael thought with a knowing incline of the head. There were no pristine corridors in humanity’s imagined heavens, no marble pillars and severe desks and stacks of paperwork and whispers of deception. _How disappointing it must have been for the few who came to see heaven for what it is._

They glanced across the way and found a similarly striking depiction of hell. Where the image of heaven was soft and muted, pastel and perfect, the image of hell was dark and claustrophobic, a wasteland of fire and torture. In the centre of it all posed a terrifying figure looking down at the viewer with burning fury in their eyes. Hooked wings were raised high above them, thick black feathers fanning out around their head in a cursed crown. Two black horns curved up from a scarred head, the tips stained with blood and glinting dangerously. Raphael shrank back, as if this hellish creature may storm through the canvas at any moment and impale them simply for the crime of looking upon them.

They looked down at the information plaque to find out which name humans had given to this terrible demon, which cursed keeper of the underworld was so reviled amongst humanity. There was little information shared about the piece, only the artist’s name and the title of the artwork: _Lucifer the Fallen._

“Oh…” A little whimper of hurt escaped Raphael’s lips as they took a step back and gazed at the painting again, finding nothing but hate and malice in the demon’s eyes. They shook their head, turning away and sinking down on the bench in the centre of the room. They watched as visitor after visitor recoiled from the painting, caught off guard by the looming figure of evil as it stared down at them, baring its teeth in a cruel smile. _This is how they know you, my love? This is what their stories have told them about you? Where are the painting of you easing the sun from her bed at dawn? Shepherding the moon across the night sky? Where are the images of you dancing in the stars, of the sun catching in your hair, of those of us who know you smiling simply because we had the honour?_

***

Michael was waiting, as promised, in the southwestern corner of the Sainsbury Wing. Hands clasped behind their back, they faced away from Raphael, focused instead on the ornate gilded frame of a portrait of the Almighty. The space was empty, whether by chance or miracle, Raphael couldn’t be sure, and they coughed to announce their presence.

“Good morning, Raphael.” The archangel Michael’s voice was as breezy as if they were meeting an old friend for lunch, much less meeting with a maligned colleague to discuss the end of the world. “When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday.” The word came out clipped, frostier than they had intended. After the relative freedom they had found in recent days, they hadn’t quite perfected their usual mask of neutrality. There was too much resentment in their voice and they made a note to dial it back next time they spoke, as as not to arouse suspicion. It was easy enough to deceive Gabriel, given his proclivity to see whatever it was he wanted to see, but Michael was a different breed entirely. “Business in heaven is complete. We are all here on Earth ready for the war.”

“Good.” Michael nodded curtly, turning back to look at the painting that lay behind them. “We’ll send for you in the coming days. You understand, of course, why Lord Gabriel thinks it key to keep our movements under wraps until we engage. We would hate for information to be compromised, wouldn’t we?”

“Quite.” Raphael hovered behind Michael, unsure whether or not they had just been dismissed. All of that worry for the sake of a few simple sentences. Perhaps Michael seeing them present on Earth was the point of the meeting rather than the conversation. Ruling out a last minute escape to safer stars, as it were. Michael turned then, giving Raphael a small incline of the head as if they were waiting for them to continue speaking. A trick, maybe, or something else? In the end, Raphael opted for a sentence as innocuous as any. “An interesting choice of meeting point.”

It had been many millennia since Michael had said a single word to Raphael that wasn’t focused on their work in heaven but there, in the quiet solitude of the gallery, the archangel Michael smiled. It softened them, transformed their face into something almost warm. “Well, we have only a few days left here, archangel. There is no sin in enjoying what we’ve spent all these years protecting, is there?”

There was only silence from the archangel who knew only too well not to engage in a discussion about sin with those had stood by Gabriel’s side since the very beginning.

A moment later, Michael continued, taking a step closer to Raphael as they dropped their voice. “Do you know we were supposed to work beside each other?”

“No, I…”

“Yes,” they nodded slowly, eyebrows raised as if they couldn’t quite believe it either. They walked across to the next painting and Raphael followed, quietly curious. The archangel Michael had been so steadfast in their support for Gabriel that Raphael had never believed their loyalty to be anything other than utter faith. “We should have overseen creation together, you and I. In the beginning that was Her plan. Then Gabriel wanted a deputy. Even Her plans can be changed, as it turns out.”

There was a moment of quiet contemplation, then Michael clapped their hands together as if they’d just remembered their presence was required elsewhere. “Enough reminiscing. Time to leave, I think. Perhaps you could escort me out, Raphael?”

Compliant until the end, Raphael smiled, offering an arm to the other archangel. They walked peacefully through the gallery, pausing occasionally to linger by a painting that called to either of them. As they walked past the painting of humanity’s depiction of Lucifer, Raphael stared straight ahead, refusing to meet those soulless eyes. Perhaps they had physically shuddered, or perhaps the archangel Michael was more perceptive than they had ever been given credit for. Their reputation as a warrior of judgement rather clouded anything softer that resided in their soul, of course. Whatever the tell, Michael patted Raphael’s forearm as they strode past the painting of Lucifer.

“Bear it no mind, archangel. What do they know of our true selves? Nothing but hearsay and rumour. When they painted _me_ they made me blonde.”

***

There was a strange sense of finality as the archangels Raphael and Michael stood at the top of the stone steps that led away from the gallery. Their meeting had been both disconcerting and comforting, a foreign mixture of emotions Raphael hadn’t yet been able to parse in their mind. It would take time, they reasoned, to fully digest what Michael had told them that day.

“Here is where I leave you for now.” With a sigh, Michael curled their fingers around Raphael’s shoulder as the wind whipped around them, blowing a ringlet of dark hair free from their severe chignon. They hesitated, then gave Raphael’s shoulder a final squeeze before they disappeared down the steps. “You were always kind, Raphael, even after what happened. I’m sorry, old friend, that our paths couldn’t have been different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my dears! I hope you're all well and have had as good a week as possible...things haven't been great worldwide, with lockdown here and...everything that's been happening in the US and...everything else *gestures vaguely at the entire BBC News website*. I hope you're all doing okay and being kind to yourselves, it's a scary time at the moment so take it as easy as you can and I hope these updates give you a bit of escapism at least.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed today's chapter! It was so fun to set another chapter in the National Gallery. It's one of my favourite places and writing this scene made me sorely miss spending an afternoon there. In case you haven't visited and wanted to visualise things a bit they've got so many great maps and layouts and digital catalogues here: https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk.
> 
> I'll be back next Wednesday with chapter 10, where we'll see what Crowley got up to while Aziraphale and Raphael were otherwise engaged - and perhaps a little flash sideways to the New World to see what the Earthlies are up to!
> 
> <3


	10. To the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice was lost to the wind, whipped out of his mouth before he could say another word.

**Z. Fell and Co., Soho. The New World.**

The little antique bell above the door tinkled charmingly as Zira looked up from behind the cash register in surprise. He was so used the quiet peace of a closed shop that the sound caught him off guard. A customer? But he wasn’t reopening until next week!

“Come on, you old silly. Brain like a sieve.” He shook his head, muttering to himself as he climbed off of the deep green velvet seat of one of two matching stools Raphael and Luci had delivered to the shop as a reopening present. They had been placed in prime position behind the cash register and, Zira had to admit, the comfortable seating did a good job of forcing him out of the back room and onto the shop floor.

“Good morning, Mr Fell.” The bright plummy voice belonged to Lloyd, the young chap who had held the unfortunate position of assistant to Zira’s rival: the red-faced, ill-mannered, unpleasant-in-all-regards Henry. Zira had been in two minds about whether to call him or not, given his previous overzealous interest in Anthony, but good booksellers were worth their weight in gold and, if Lloyd had been able to survive two downtrodden years in Henry’s employ, it was certainly worth having a conversation with him about his future employment plans, wasn’t it?

It had been Tracy’s idea for Zira to hire an assistant bookseller, proposed during that month’s dinner, at which Anthony was now a permanent figure. While running through plans for the grand reopening of Z. Fell and Co., the medium had suggested that perhaps now Zira had so many more things to devote his time to, it might be a nice idea to have another pair of hands around the shop instead of him having to ‘spend morning, noon, and night slaving over the shelves’. He had agreed, reluctantly, that perhaps she made a good point. It _would_ be nice to be able to take the odd afternoon off, start a little later than usual if Anthony happened to have a quiet day and they wanted to have breakfast together. Besides, with the shop’s online offering picking up momentum every day, it might not be too long before taking on another employee wouldn't be a choice as much as a necessity. With Anthony covering the shop’s virtual sales and a new assistant taking charge of the shop floor, maybe he would even have the mental capacity to expand into new territory. He could finally set up an author in residence, offer a space for book launches, maybe even transform the back room into a cosy little coffee shop where book lovers could relax with a slice of cake and wile away an hour escaping into their new (well, _old_ ) purchase.

He hadn’t mentioned his ideas to anybody else yet, liked having that time to let them anchor in his brain and take root, to swirl and grow and become something that felt exciting rather than scary, do-able rather than impossible. He had already _done_ the impossible after all, hadn’t he? He had conquered himself, he had stepped outside of his cell of fear, he had fallen in love, given away his heart and trusted another person to hold it close and love it in turn. And that, Zira was sure, was infinitely more impossible than installing a coffee machine in the back room of the shop.

“Hello, Lloyd.” Zira extended a hand, felt a wash of relief when Lloyd shook it briskly but without the usual intimidating death grip of authority that most in the industry punished him with. “Thank you for coming in today. I wasn't sure if you’d have the time, I’m sure Henry keeps you very busy.”

He hadn’t prefaced their meeting with information about the potential job, wanting instead to keep it simple with a conversation about books and bookselling while he sussed out whether Lloyd might be at home at the shop. He had a very particular way of doing things and wanted to ensure whoever he offered the job to would be the right fit, would understand that he put satisfaction before sales, that customer loyalty was more important than month-on-month profits, that nothing was more important than finding each book the correct home.

Lloyd laughed ruefully, brushing a swoop of fair hair out of his eyes and hopping up onto one of the stools. “Not so busy any more. Henry had to let me go. Well, he fired me. Loudly. In front of a lot of people. Called me an insubordinate weasel if we’re going to quote him directly.”

Zira raised an eyebrow, urging him to go on.

“I wouldn’t put my flat up as collateral for a book he wanted me to bid on. I tried to explain that auctioneers won’t accept a rented flat as payment but I’m not sure he comprehends the notion of renting. Said I clearly wasn’t dedicated enough to the noble art of book buying, so it’s the bakery round the corner keeping me busy at the moment. Well, busy on Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight until four, at least.”

“The bakery around the corner?” Aziraphale asked, emotion building in the pit of his stomach as he was blinded by one thought and one thought only.

“Yes, actually I think you can see their sign from this window.” Lloyd twisted in his seat, craning his neck to look at the far edge of the street outside.

“The bakery around the corner that sells the overpriced little cakes?”

“Well, I’m not sure _overpriced_ is quite the…”

“The bakery around the corner that sells the overpriced little cakes that I love so much?”

“Is that one of our bags?” Lloyd asked eventually, eyeing the yellow and white striped paper bag that was perched atop the cash desk by Zira’s right hand. Inside lay two very sticky, very delicious, _very_ overpriced little cakes that the bookseller intended on diving headfirst into the second the interview was over.

“I don’t know what you put in them and I don’t want to know.” Zira grinned, patting the top of the bag and leaning a little closer to Lloyd. “Look, I know this might seem like an unconventional interview but how would you like to get back into the world of books, perhaps Mondays and Wednesdays? Selling rather than buying this time. What do you think?”

Half an hour later Zira stood in the doorway of the shop with Z. Fell and Co.’s newest (and only) assistant bookseller, making plans for a training morning next week ahead of the shop’s reopening event.

“I’ll see you then!” Zira smiled cheerily, raising one hand in a wave and turning to go, only Lloyd called out to him before he could disappear back inside the shop.

“Thank you, Mr Fell.” He reached out to shake Zira’s hand one last time. “Enjoy your cakes.”

And that’s exactly what he did, polishing off one before Lloyd had even reached the final step. No sooner had he licked the last swipe of honey from his thumb than the bell above the door rang again. Zira frowned as he looked up, wondering if this time it really was an overzealous customer who had arrived precisely a week too soon.

“Sammy!” He exclaimed, pocketing the bag that contained the remaining cake before the postman could get any ideas. “What brings you here on this fine…”

“All right, mate? I came to see if Anthony was kicking about but, first thing’s first, who is that _beautiful_ man?” Sammy asked, staring out of the shop window at Lloyd’s retreating back. “I passed him outside on the steps, please tell me you didn’t say something weird and scare him away forever.”

***

**London. Earth.**

Crowley let go of the wheel for a moment, performing a perfect air guitar solo and wondering idly why it was so much easier to perform without a crowd staring you down, or an actual guitar in your hands, of course. As the demon moved from air guitar to air drums, the Bentley zipped south towards Waterloo, taking control of proceedings and picking up as much speed as was possible during rush hour in the capital: for an ordinary car, perhaps a little over a frustrating crawl was the only option, but for the celestially-enhanced vehicle? The speedometer vibrated around the 60mph mark until Crowley let out an ungodly cackle and dared her to do them one better.

Travelling southbound was the exact opposite direction to their intended destination but, given that Raphael had restricted Crowley’s roaming to a very discreet radius the demon had no choice but to perform a number of tight five mile laps around the city lest he wander too far and break their agreement. He would make it out to the Heath soon enough but first there was the matter of burning off some steam. The Bentley had been cooped up for far too long and Crowley intended to let her stretch her legs (well, wheels) and wreak one last spot of low-level havoc before the day was through.

It wasn’t until the demon was on his third lap that he began to notice quite how much London had changed in the months he had been away from Earth. The first two circuits had been a blur (literally, when the Bentley picked up enough speed); the burned out shops, the empty units, the chunks of barren wasteland where museums and pubs and parks once stood had been pushed aside to make way for his excitement at being back in the driver’s seat. As the Bentley curved around the edge of Hyde Park Corner and was forced, to both car’s and demon’s irritation, to slow down or plough directly into the back of a double decker, the demon was confronted by the new reality of the city for the first time.

It was dying, he realised. They had left the Almighty’s creation alone and, without them, it had fallen prey to heaven and hell, becoming nothing but a burning battlefield for the final war.

The volume of the music booming from the car’s speakers quietened and Crowley spent the rest of the drive in chastised silence, wondering how different the city might have looked if he had fought his way back into heaven, or whether humanity’s fate had been sealed since the day the Almighty have dreamed up a little lone planet called Earth.

***

**Hampstead Heath, London.**

The dog bared its teeth, snapping once before jumping back and whimpering in fear. It turned, tail between its legs, and sped away before Crowley even took in what had happened. He watched the dog sprint back down the hill towards its owner, a tall man in a Barbour and a flat cap who eyed him suspiciously before hurrying away.

Crowley sighed heavily, fists unconsciously clenched at his sides as the inevitable dawned on him. A trip to Earth wasn’t just an opportunity to drive his car and visit his forests again. With the good came the soul-crushing bad. Back to life as a demon, back to man and beast fearing him for no reason other than his presence gave them a chill. Back to reality. He felt a jolt of rage course through his body, angry at the injustice, angry at the centuries and centuries of being feared simply because somebody up top had declared him _wrong_. It simmered away as quickly as it had bubbled up but it took him by surprise, that sudden rush of fury. He had never felt angry about his place in the world before, only sad, only guilty, only resigned to his status as something to be afraid of.

Before he could muse the thought any further he looked up and saw the top of the hill was only a short incline away. _Finally_. He seemed to have been walking for hours, though the reality was closer to a twenty minute amble. It was quiet in the park, something he’d put down to the end of days not allowing much freedom for leisure time. His usual path into the park had been diverted away from an area that had been particularly hard hit by the floods, which he could only presume heaven or hell had claimed responsibility for, and the area around the pond had been transformed into a swampy mess of mud and trampled reeds. Still, it was impossible to take away the park’s beauty in totality, and the demon had enjoyed basking in the soft sunlight as he’d sucked in lungfuls of fresh air in a vain attempt to catch his breath.

Crowley felt in his pocket for his phone, breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers caught the rectangle of metal and glass. He hadn’t mentioned it to Aziraphale for fear the angel might take it as a criticism of his own hurried creation but there were some major design tweaks Crowley intended on making when they returned to the new world, starting with the forests. If he couldn’t take his original creations with him, he wanted to at least recreate them as best he could. Once they left this time Crowley knew there would be no Earth to return to, so taking a quick photo for posterity was another reason for his trip out to the park that day. It was silly, he knew that, perhaps even a little vain, but the forests had remained the one thing in his life he could be truly proud of and he wanted something tangible to remember them by, something beyond his own memories of their loyalty and shelter.

As the top of the path grew closer he felt himself break into a smile. Just a few more steps and he would be greeted by a view that never failed to soothe his soul. Nothing but hundreds of trees stretching in a wide band of woodland that remained gloriously untouched, even as the modern world had sprung up around it. He had long since thought of this place as something of a pilgrimage, the long walk uphill a time for reflection and intention before the prizewinning view at the end of it. No matter what was troubling him, there were no questions that couldn’t be answered after a calming walk in the woods. As he approached the brow of the hill he was hit was a heady mixture of sadness and determination: sadness for the fact it would be his final walk in that particular forest, determination because he knew it was impossible he would leave that day without a renewed sense of purpose.

A step later Crowley was struck by the creeping chill that something was wrong. By this point he should see leaves fluttering over the horizon, the top branches of the tallest trees arcing in the wind. In his more fantastical moments he would imagine them as hands greeting him with a friendly wave, beckoning him closer. But there were no leaves in sight, no branches waving him home. He jogged the last few steps, countering every panicked thought with reassurances that _of course nothing’s wrong, you’ve just been away for so long you’re remembering it differently._

He took one last step and there he stood at the top of the hill, stock still in disbelief, one hand pressed against his mouth as he stared down at the blackened ruin of the forest below.

“No.” His voice was lost to the wind, whipped out of his mouth before he could say another word.

Where the lush, wondrous trees had once stood there was nothing but ruined stumps, great thick branches snapped and twisted on the ground, leaves charred and destroyed. It was gone, all of it, nothing but a memory of what had once been a place of such beauty. The demon broke into a run, tearing down the hillside in the desperate hope that there might be something left to save. _What happened? Please. How could this happen? It’s all I had, it’s all I ever made, it’s all the good I ever did._

As he reached the bottom of the hill he could see another path had been worn down in the grass that skirted around the edge of the trees, as if passersby wanted to give the woods a wide birth, like a crime scene they knew they should stay away from. A dog walker trod the path, head down, phone in hand, as if they’d walked past the sight so many times it had lost any shock value. His dog, a scrappy little yorkie that looked furious to be dressed in a light jacket, nosed a charred tree stump with interest for a moment before skittering away, offended by the acrid smell.

Crowley watched them leave in silence, wondered distantly how unhinged he must look, standing there staring at the trees with tears streaming down his face. When he was sure he was alone he dived forwards, deviating from the path to stand inside the tight circle of scorched earth that ran around the perimeter of what had once been the forest.

 _This wasn’t an accident_ , he realised, looking at the abundance of grass that thrived right up to the black earth that the fire had ravaged. The fire hadn’t swept through the park, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake, it had been sent to destroy the forest and nothing else. _They knew what they were doing._

He dropped to his knees in front of a large oak that had stood proudly for hundreds of years, now just a thick stump burned away until nothing but two feet of dark wood remained. He placed shaking hands on the wood, brushing away the surface level of ash and closing his eyes, focusing on the steady beat of his heart as he willed it to bring life back into the forest. He swept his fingers over a mass of branches on the ground, felt for any remnants of leaves that he might be able to transform back into things that had years ahead of them to live, to listen to a hundred stories beneath their branches, to keep a thousand secrets spoken from the heart.

There was nothing. There was no life there. There was only silence where there had once been whispers, the end of things where there had once been unconquerable hope.

Aziraphale had travelled to the A.Z. Fell and Co. that same morning, knowing he would find a burned out shell of the shop. _Was I a misguided fool,_ Crowley wondered, _not to suspect the forests would have fallen to the same fate?_

 _They burned my forests, they burned his bookshop. They knew we would come back, they knew we would see this. Did they destroy the things we loved to force us into returning? Did they think there was so much of us in them that we would know the moment they burned? What comes next? What do they destroy if the creations we love are not enough?_ Crowley paused, catching eyes with a couple walking hand in hand who gave him a strange look as they passed, a lone man ankle deep in the charcoal remains of the woods, whimpering over fallen trees. He watched them leave, realised perhaps they had answered his question.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning back to the woods and picking up a useless branch that had been split in clean in half. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop them.”

Had the other forests around the world suffered the same undignified end, burned away to nothing? Had they destroyed gardens too, rose bushes and fruit trees and anything that bore his mark of creation? He would never have time to replace them all, it was too much to do in too little time. He shook his head with a sigh. It didn’t much matter, did it? It would be over before he could even begin. The forests would have been destroyed one way or another, that was rather the point of the end of the world.

“You’ll live again. It’ll have to be in another world, I hope that’ll do. You’ll be so beautiful, even lovelier than you were here. All of you, you’ll all live again. I promise.”

Who had sent the fire, the demon pondered, as he fussed with the branches, brushing mud and ash away and untangling their matted ends until they lay neatly together, as close to a peaceful memorial as the demon could manage. Was it hell, punishing him for leaving, for failing to return when he was denied re-entry to heaven? No, he shook his head. It was too precise, too targeted. The aim had been to hurt him, to cut right to the heart of him. The trees were his legacy, after all, the only proof that he had done good, once upon a time. To destroy that, to remove any trace of his kindness from the Earth he loved so dearly, that was a cruelty that only the Archangel Gabriel was capable of, Crowley was sure of it.

“Heaven or hell, it doesn’t matter” he murmured, standing up and giving the ruined forest one last look before he turned to leave. There was work to be done after all. “What will your legacy be after the end? Who will remember you? Who will tell stories of the great war between angels and devils? Nobody. Nobody at all. When you destroy them you'll destroy yourselves too.”

As the demon walked away, quiet and steady with renewed determination, a little green shoot fought its way through the soul and sprouted quietly in between the fallen trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday, chums! How are you all doing? I hope you've had a good week with lots of relaxing moments and wholesome dinners, what else is life about, eh?
> 
> I'll be back next week as normal so I'll see you then for the next chapter, where we'll see Aziraphale and Crowley having a debrief about their days, as well as perhaps say hello to a new character, or two, or three <3


	11. Guess Who Just Got Back Today?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Heaven is boring when it’s empty.”

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

The demon closed his eyes, groaning with pleasure at the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers raking through his hair, massaging his scalp and pressing wide circles against the back of his neck. The luxury was pure indulgence and he relished the treat, nestling closer to the angel until they were nose to nose. They lay in silence, chests rising and falling in harmony, Aziraphale fingers working through Crowley’s hair in the dark, one of the demon’s arms slung loosely around the angel’s waist.

A slash of light stole its way under the bottom of the bedroom door and there was the tinny sound of the television filtering in from the living room, where Remi had doubtless set up camp for the night on the sofa with a slice of pizza in one hand, a can of something fizzy in the other and classic British comedy keeping him entertained until dawn. Only Fools and Horses remained his top pick, though he had noted Some Mothers Do Have ‘Em was next on his list. The little angel had taken to giving them scene by scene playthroughs of his favourite episodes, and had gone so far as to call Aziraphale a _plonker_ when he’d spilled a cup of tea that evening. Aziraphale had sighed wearily in response, while Crowley had dissolved into laughter so intense he was quite sure he’d pulled a muscle in his neck. Raphael, however, was nowhere to be seen, though they had begun to resign themselves to the archangel’s mysterious comings and goings, albeit a rather grumpy resignation.

With Raphael otherwise engaged and Remi hastily developing square eyes in front of the television, Crowley and Aziraphale had made the executive decision to retire to bed, if only to claw back some much needed privacy. After six thousand years of lonely existence as two of the only divine emissaries on Earth, the sudden transition to sharing a one bedroom flat with two other entities had been a little bracing to say the least. Though overwhelming at times, Crowley felt a swell of comfort at the sound of another presence in the flat. He had surprised himself by enjoying playing the role of host, wondered if perhaps it was something they would get to do more of if they, _when_ they returned to the new world.

“Another day done,” the angel breathed, his hands moving from Crowley’s hair to the demon’s chest as he snuggled closer. “And the world still turns.”

“For now.” Crowley tutted at his own pessimism, then turned his attention to a more hopeful question. “How did it go earlier? Was there anything to salvage at the shop?”

Aziraphale let out a long sigh, followed by a shrug that Crowley felt rather than saw. “It went as expected. It was gone. Parts were still standing but it was a shell, really. Took half the street with it, it seems. It was the strangest thing, though, everybody just strolled past as if an entire road of that carnage was completely normal.”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, remembered the dog walkers and joggers who had skirted around the remains of the forest as if it didn’t even exist, but Aziraphale gasped with excitement before he could say a word.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” the angel exclaimed, clicking on the bedside lamp and reaching out to retrieve the battered copy of Agnes Nutter’s tome that seemed to have a rather feline number of lives. “Look what I _did_ find.”

Crowley chuckled fondly, taking the book and stroking the front cover with his thumb. “The little book that refused to die. I wonder if she knew the things this book would see.”

“Of course she knew,” Aziraphale said, taking the book back and tucking it neatly at the foot of the bedside table for safe-keeping. “I’d wager Ms Nutter could have had a good crack at predicting how this mess of a situation might end.”

“Mmm, what do you reckon? _Listen closely, ye serpent and sword, for the time draws near to javelin that purple-eyed bastarde into the sun_.”

“Spot on, my dear. It’s as if she’s in the room with us right now.”

***

Since they had arrived back at the Love Nest the conventional methods of measuring time had been replaced, as far as Crowley was concerned. The demon realised that he no longer measured time spent in the flat by hours or minutes, but by how many episodes of TV Remi had consumed. For example, he knew he’d been laying awake while Aziraphale snored peacefully beside him for two and a half episodes now. Next up would be the Christmas special, well, the twelfth Christmas special, to be precise. Remi would love that, the demon was sure. He smiled, listening to the muffled sound of voices coming from the living room, punctuated every so often with a honk of laughter whenever Remi actually understood a joke. He’d only been on Earth for two days, Crowley conceded, so it was bound to take him a while to pick up on the ins and outs of comedy. Heaven wasn’t exactly known for being a barrel of laughs. Not even a bucket of laughs, come to that.

It was strange, the demon mused, how quickly they had slipped back into habits from the last time they had occupied the flat: spending the nighttime hours sleeping, though they had no physical need for rest; holding onto each other in some small way throughout the night, even two fingers linked was enough to anchor them together. Life inside that one small space persisted as normal, untouched by the tests heaven and hell had sent for humanity to endure as the end of days drew closer. Perhaps they had left a shred of protection without realising it, something to keep their home safely waiting for them. The rest of the city hadn’t been so lucky of course, and that simple thought was all it took for the events of that day to wind their way back into Crowley’s mind.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale murmured sleepily, turning over and reaching for Crowley’s other hand. “My dear, are you all right?”

“They destroyed my forests,” Crowley said simply, staring up at the ceiling as his thumb stroked rapid patterns across the back of Aziraphale’s hand. A tear slipped down his cheek and he sniffed brusquely. “When I got there there was nothing left.”

“Oh, Crowley.” The angel shifted until he was sitting up, and he pulled the demon close, cradling his head to his chest. “I’m so sorry, my love. They’re still there, in our world. They’re waiting for us when we go back. Your forests, your flowers, your garden, they’re all there waiting for us.”

“I should have been here. I should have protected them. What kind of creator leaves the things they brought to life to be destroyed?”

The question hung a beat longer than it needed to, the layered meaning unravelling until both angel and demon fell silent in contemplation.

“Quite,” Aziraphale said eventually, as if a point he had been slow to realise over the years had begun to cement itself in his brain. “For what it’s worth, Crowley, there is no creator out there who cares for his creations more than you. Look at the world around you, look at the _worlds_ around you. Who else in heaven or hell has left their mark more than you? Gabriel can burn every tree, every flower to the ground but what does that do really? It doesn’t erase your legacy. It doesn’t rewrite every song that sings of woodland, it doesn’t erase every poem that speaks of a flower blooming. What you’ve built here is something nobody can destroy, Crowley, not heaven or hell. You will always be remembered, my love, as long as humanity has stories and art and music, what you made for them will never be forgotten.”

***

“I could _feel_ the Earth weakening,” Crowley whispered, brushing Aziraphale’s nose with his own and pausing mid-sentence to fail in his quest at getting out a full sentence without leaning forward for a kiss. “Do you know what I mean? It’s like the world has started to give up, like it’s ready to collapse in on itself, like it knows.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I do know what you mean, though I wish I didn’t. It feels…hazy, as if we’re seeing the reality and the humans are seeing something else entirely, as if they’ve got some sort of _glasses_ on that…”

“Rose-tinted.”

“No, I mean… Oh, well, yes I suppose that is rather what I meant. There isn’t much time left, Crowley. I don’t know how much, perhaps Raphael does but I get the impression they aren’t exactly in the know either.”

“They said the meeting with Michael went smoothly, at least that’s something.” Crowley shrugged, tried to imagine the two archangels going through the motions of a business meeting. A great shame, the demon thought, that the first time Raphael got to spend any real time on Earth was to play such an instrumental role in bringing about its demise. Cruel, really.

“For now all we can do is wait.”

“Yes, wait here like sitting ducks.”

“Do you think we can…”

“ _No_ , angel, I don’t think Raphael is going to let us swan off, pun accidental but welcome, to feed the ducks.”

Aziraphale let out a little sound that was an unmistakable _harrumph,_ leaving Crowley grinning to himself, despite the sombre tone of the conversation.

“Don’t worry, angel, soon enough we’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with Raphael and stare down the gauntlet at Gabriel and the forces of heaven.”

“And Beelzebub and the forces of hell,” Aziraphale added gloomily.

“Cheer up, angel,” Crowley said brightly. “Only the combined forces of heaven and hell stand between us and a cheeky zip back to the new world. It could be worse.”

“How could it be worse, Crowley?” Aziraphale demanded, sitting up and flinging the bedsheets back in frustration. “Four of us against the infinite armies of heaven and hell. We’re done for. Tell me _one_ way in which this dire situation could be any worse.”

Crowley paused for a moment, before snapping his fingers as a thought came to him. “Raphael could have left us in each other’s bodies, imagine that. You’ve have hated it. I’m all limbs, angel, so ungainly.”

The demon was just about to ripple his arms to show just how ungainly his long limbs were when a booming slam of the front door cut through the flat’s nighttime peace, followed by a crash in the living room.

“Shit,” Crowley hissed, eyes wide as his hands clasped around Aziraphale’s wrists. “What do we do? Angel?”

Aziraphale wrenched his hands out of Crowley’s grasp, reaching down the side of the bed for the rolling pin he had dutifully stashed there in case of emergency. There weren’t many perks to constantly living in a heightened state of anxiety and fear of disaster but one perk, perhaps the only one, was that Aziraphale was always prepared for danger. While he was steadily approaching the bedroom door with caution, Crowley was busily clattering in the dark looking for something to defend himself with.

“Where is it?” he squawked, sweeping books aside in his quest to find a weapon. “Where’s my bloody sword? I’ve been waiting six thousand years and I’ve lost it already.”

“I believe you left it conveniently next to the bed, my dear,” Aziraphale muttered, as Crowley drew up alongside him, wielding a shoe for protection, and the angel quietly eased the bedroom door open, praying to the heavens that the sound belonged to a cuddly stray cat and not something more nefarious.

There was only time to see a group of imposing figures racing towards them before Crowley raised his shoe and brought it crashing down on one of the shadowy figures that lurked in the dim gloom of the living room, the residual glow from the television providing the only real source of light.

“Hey!” A voice exclaimed as the figure shrank back, clutching their shoulder in pain. “What was that for?”

At the sound of the commotion, Remi popped up from the sofa and waved his hands as if the gesture might diffuse the situation. “It’s fine, it’s fine! They’re with us!”

Four dark shapes loitered in the corner of the living room, silhouetted dramatically in the light that bled in from the open front door. One of them looked over their shoulder and swung it closed, seemingly unperturbed as it slammed shut with a ringing echo.

Aziraphale, who had been holding his rolling pin aloft in warning, lowered his weapon slightly and looked between Remi and Crowley, confusion crumpling his features. Beside him, Crowley gently dropped his shoe to the floor as if he was proffering a peace deal to these strangers who, perhaps, posed less of a threat than the demon and angel had first suspected.

Apparently the only soul in the room who had a clue what was going on, Remi clambered off of the sofa and stood next to the figures, looking up at them with his hands on his hips as he waggled one scolding finger. “You’re early.”

“Heaven is boring when it’s empty,” one of them replied, voice frustrated but lighter than Crowley and Aziraphale had suspected. It sounded familiar in a way Crowley couldn’t quite place.

“Not much more interesting even when it’s full, eh?” Another one of the group spoke and the three strangers laughed conspiratorially.

Crowley took a step forward, voice wavering in disbelief as he spoke. It was dark but…it was as unmistakable as it was uncanny. “Lily?”

The figure Crowley had spoken to pulled herself up to full height, fixing Crowley with a hard stare as she stepped away from the others. She eyed him suspiciously, as if searching his face for a hint of deception. “Let’s not get so familiar so quickly, Mr Earthly-Emissary. It’s Lilith, and if you value that skinny little corporation you call a body you’ll-”

She opened her mouth to continue speaking but Aziraphale interrupted, storming in Remi’s direction and gesticulating wildly, as if he was entirely sick of everything going over his head. “Remi. Answers. Now!”

“You didn’t think we were planning to do this without reinforcements, did you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hump day, friends! It's a very grey day here but I have a load of fun writing this chapter so I'm cheery nonetheless! I hope you're all doing well and you and your loved ones had a fun, safe week.
> 
> The title for this week's chapter is, of course, taken from Thin Lizzy's 'The Boys are Back in Town' which I thought was too perfect for the final scene. I hope you enjoyed this one and I'll be back next week with chapter twelve, where we find out more about these mysterious nighttime interlopers 👀.
> 
> Have a good week, pals <3


	12. Knowing Me, Knowing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…that, Remi, is why we don’t take our life lessons from Only Fools and Horses.”

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

“Remi!” Crowley and Aziraphale cried in tandem, turning away from the three strangers and closing in on Remi. “Explain!”

Remi sidestepped the angel and demon, patting them both reassuringly on the shoulder as he bypassed them in favour of exchanging a series of complicated manoeuvres with the mysterious interlopers. As Crowley and Aziraphale watched on, dumbfounded at the imposition, Remi looked back over his shoulder at them and grinned brightly. “I told Raphael I was only on board if we could have a secret handshake.”

As if on cue, and perhaps as a minor distraction to prevent Crowley and Aziraphale from detonating where they stood, Raphael took that moment to bustle in through the front door. They took a step back in shock as the sight of a dimly lit, crowded living room greeted them, and then they clicked on the light as if that might help illuminate the situation.

“Where have you been?” Aziraphale crowed, flinging up an arm towards the strangers as he stared accusingly at the archangel. “Did you know about this? Who are these people and _what_ are they doing in our top secret, super secure hidden location? They just _swanned_ in. No barriers, no booby traps, nothing at all. What if it had been Gabriel? Hmm? Crowley had to defend our honour with a _shoe_ , for crying out loud.”

“A shoe?” Raphael asked, looking at Crowley in confusion. “What about the sword I gave you?”

“Left it by the bed,” Crowley mumbled, head downturned in contrition.

Next to him, Aziraphale’s voice reached a pitch only dogs and bats could hear. “Who. Are. These. People?”

“People?” An indignant voice sounded for the first time and one of the strangers stepped forward. A little shorter in stature than Aziraphale but no less imposing for it, they were clad in dark grey robes that cascaded dramatically down to the floor, and keen, dark eyes locked onto the angel’s. “Who are you calling _people_? Archangel, are we wasting our time here? We’ve all made sacrifices to…”

“Wait, _Sammy_?” Crowley asked incredulously, pinching the cuff of the stranger’s robes while Aziraphale looked on open-mouthed. The resemblance was impossible to deny. Though he had never seen the dry-witted postman hold himself so proudly or look so…dangerous, but it was unmistakable.

“What is with the nicknames?” Sammy-who-apparently-took-offence-at-being-named-thusly turned to Remi and grunted in frustration as he stepped back in line with the others, who were eyeing Crowley and Aziraphale with a mixture of distrust and distaste.

“Maybe we can all take a seat and then we can, er, bridge any missing knowledge gaps. How does that sound?” Remi suggested helpfully, waving his arms gently to and fro as if that might help to calm the mood.

“It _sounds_ ,” Crowley said tersely, gripping onto Aziraphale’s arm for dear life, “like you invited three strangers into our home without warning us, without asking us, without even consulting us, and that supreme act of misguidedness, _Remi,_ is why we don’t take our life lessons from Only Fools and Horses.”

The little angel gasped in response, one hand flying up to his heart as if Crowley had just reached into his chest and squeezed extremely hard. When he spoke there was an unmistakable quiver in his voice. “Well, I’m sorry, Crowley, but I have been under a _lot_ of pressure. I work and I work and I work and does anybody ever for a moment think about cutting me some slack? No, no you don’t. I forget to tell you about _one_ little…”

“Come on now,” Raphael said kindly, nudging Remi on the shoulder and gesturing for the angel to sit down. “Yes, Remi, it would have been helpful if we’d all known about tonight’s new arrivals but it isn’t the end of the world, so let’s just…”

“Oh, good one, Raphael, _good one_ ,” Crowley hissed, rolling his eyes and flinging himself onto the far end of the sofa.

“A poor choice of words, admittedly, but what’s done is done and I’m sure you all have a lot of questions so let’s take a moment to calm down and then we’ll move ahead with introductions.”

There was a beat of silence, during which the seven celestial entities flicked their gaze accusingly at whoever had displeased them the most. And then Aziraphale decided to ease the tension the best way he knew how.

“I’ll go and pop the kettle on, shall I?”

***

“Cosy,” Crowley remarked, raising one eyebrow as he sipped his tea and eyed the three newcomers with wary suspicion.

Next to him, well, half on top of him given that there were four of them squashed onto a single sofa, Aziraphale smiled hopefully and gave the strangers a cheery nod. The angel appeared to have fallen headfirst into _host_ mode, offering around tea and biscuits and barely recoiling in offence when the newcomers declined his offer. He wondered idly if their rejection was due to the majority of the biscuits being broken, then moved onto pondering why such a thing hadn’t bothered _him_. Perhaps, he thought, such trivial matters as broken biscuits paled in comparison to the impending end of the world. _Worlds_ , he reminded himself.

One seat along, Remi inhaled another biscuit as if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if the entire nighttime disturbance was a wholly usual affair. He grinned at Crowley, then widened his eyes as the demon stared back with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, as if he was trying to communicate something the little angel couldn’t quite decode. Eventually, he settled for gently scolding Raphael with confidence that left Crowley and Aziraphale shocked and impressed in equal measure. “You really should have been here for their arrival.”

After a moment of thoughtful silence Raphael responded, scolding equally gently. “You really should have told me you’d arranged their arrival.”

“Yes. Well. Divinity has never been about casting blame.” Remi smiled sheepishly, then turned his attention to echoing Aziraphale’s earlier question. “Where were you though, archangel? Have there been any changes?”

Raphael shook their head and swallowed deeply, smiling down at their lap as if they were a little embarrassed to speak the truth, that they still searched the stars nightly, in the vain hope of finding a trace of their beloved. In the end, they settled for a modified version. “I like to watch the stars.”

“Why _did_ you summon us, Remiel?” The tallest newcomer asked, voice gentler than the others. Crowley nearly spoke then, trusting that Dan, out of all of them, was most likely to give him a straight answer. “It seems we’ve arrived entirely too early.”

“I thought introductions might be a good idea now that everybody is, well, back under the same sky. Time to get to know each other before…the…end.” Remi’s voice grew quieter as he spoke, as if he realised partway through his sentence that it might not have the cheering effect he’d hoped.

After a momentary pause for the group to ruminate on their own impending face off with certain death, Raphael gestured for Remi to continue, as if they thought introductions might help to ease the tension in the room.

“We already know each other!” Crowley burst then, untangling himself from Aziraphale and standing up to jab a finger at the three newcomers. “We were in a band together for crying out loud. Are you telling me you never saw Anthony talking to the front of his trousers? _That was me!_ ”

Silence settled like dust in the wake of Crowley’s eruption and the three newcomers looked back at him with a mixture of confusion and dismay, as if it had just dawned on them that perhaps they’d backed the wrong horse in the race. Meanwhile, Remi and Raphael looked pointedly in opposite directions, while Aziraphale sighed wearily and shook his head.

Eventually Remi decided it was best to gloss over Crowley’s outburst and continue with introductions as if the demon hadn’t just tried to convince their newest recruits he wasn’t the serpent they all knew and loved but, rather, a snake of the trouser department. The little angel gestured first to the angel and demon and then to the three strangers. “Crowley, Aziraphale, this is Daniel, Samael and Lilith. I know it’s been a while since you were all in the same department but I’m sure you’re at least familiar with each other’s work.”

Raphael nodded, searching Crowley’s face for a glimmer of recognition the demon couldn’t yet give. “Yes, Crowley, perhaps it will come back to you once you have a chance to get better acquainted. It has been a long time, all things considered.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, looking from Daniel to Samael to Lilith in disbelief. He knew those names, he had heard them before, so many years ago. He tutted, admonishing himself for being so foolish to never have recognised the familiarity of their human counterparts.

“It can’t be…” Crowley trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to fathom the resemblance to Anthony’s bandmates.

“Uh, stop _leaning_ on me.” Lilith took that moment to shrug Samael roughly from her shoulder, he responded with a huff in her general direction and suddenly it was all the more unmistakable.

“It’s uncanny,” Aziraphale whispered, shaking his head.

“ _You copied and pasted other angels into the new world to give Anthony some friends?_ What were you thinking? It’s so _weird_ , angel!” Crowley hissed under his breath, turning back to Aziraphale as if the angel had committed an unspoken faux pas.

“I don’t know!” the angel cried, lowering his voice as five heads swivelled to look in their direction. As he spoke he gestured towards the three newcomers, confused desperation on his face. “I must have…walked past them in heaven once, sat next to them at a conference, I don’t know. I told you before, it was all such a blur. _You_ try building and populating an entire _planet_ in seconds without any overlap, you have to draw inspiration from what you know.”

Crowley paced forward to look at the new arrivals as if was admiring wax works in a museum, leaning in to each one in turn to scrutinise them for any physical differences from their human counterparts. Each of the angels shrank back in turn as he marvelled at the familiarity of their features. At first glance they could have been twins, separated at birth from the humans he had come to know and love, only these celestial counterparts were bigger, stronger, all together more imposing, as if the three human musicians he had grown so fond of in the new world had been taken and moulded into fierce warriors.

Remi, sensing everybody’s discomfort, ushered Lilith and the others over to the three chairs he’d taken from around the dining table to place haphazardly around the coffee table. The whole effect was rather extended-family-visiting-over-Christmas in its chaos. Still, the newcomers didn’t seem too enamoured at the cosy hodge podge as they remained standing, albeit a little perturbed at Crowley craning his neck to hover mere centimetres from each of their faces in turn.

“Come on, try it.” Remi waggled his half empty tea cup in their direction. “It’s soothing. It’s what you’re meant to do after you’ve had a shock.”

Lilith spoke for the group, eyes sharp and narrowed in Remi’s direction. “Didn’t take you long to adjust to masquerading as a human, did it?”

“You’re going to stand there and say that to me, pretending you didn’t tell me two months ago that you wanted to spend your final days on Earth walking amongst…”

“That’s _enough_ ,” the three of them hissed, and the suddenly the living room felt even more crowded as the strangers took a step apart and unfurled three pairs of raven-black wings.

In the silence that followed, only Crowley stepped forward, voice wondrous as he stared up at their wings. “You’re fallen? You’re like me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning/afternoon/evening folks (delete as applicable!), how are you all doing today? I seem to have ended up booking myself into approx. 239847293874 video meetings for work this week, so I can mostly be found loudly complaining 'this could have been an email!!!' to anyone who'll listen...and I'm even doing it here, sorry 😅.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little insight into the celestial counterparts to Dan, Sammy, and Lily! I'm so happy I got to include them, it feels like I've been waiting to introduce them for months now :D. I'll be back next Wednesday with chapter thirteen, which brings this strange evening of introductions to a close.
> 
> I think I've tentatively plotted out the majority of the remaining chapters and, at the moment, it's looking like there are going to be 20 chapters in total, which means the end is just around the corner! The last couple of chapters will be hefty bois but we are entering the final few chapters of the story, which is wild! At some point in the fairly near future I'm going to switch to fortnightly updates to give me time to work on the big ending but I'll let you know in my author notes when I'm going to make that switch.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all have fun weekend plans and if you're so inclined please do swing by the comments and tell me about the best food you ate in the last week - you know I need that constant source of culinary inspiration :D.
> 
> Much love to you all <3


	13. Back in Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael let out a laboured sigh, as if they were entirely sick of repeating their answer. “I’m just old.”

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

Crowley stumbled back, repeating himself as the rest of the group stood in silence. “You’re fallen?”

Next to him, Aziraphale stared up at the three pairs of ink black wings and nodded slowly as realisation dawned on him and he remembered the last time he had stood in the group’s presence. All four of them together on a stage…of course.

“Correction.” Samael grinned, holding up a finger. “ _Were_ fallen. Not all of us failed to get back into heaven, thank you very much.”

Crowley remembered the unsettled emotion he’d felt the first time he had laid eyes on Anthony’s friends. He’d been struck by the sense of recognition, as if he’d seen them many times before. He’d brushed it off, of course, had put it down to Anthony’s familiarity with them trickling into his own memories. But there, standing before them with their wings held proudly aloft, he remembered them amongst the small cluster of faces he had seen on the morning that decided whether or not they were granted access back into heaven. He thought back to that lone voice that had spoken up in hell in the weeks before the R+R, questioning what fate would befall any demons who failed to win heaven’s forgiveness. He looked at Lilith. _It was you, wasn’t it?_ There were other recollections too, older memories, the sense of them standing beside each other millennia before, united behind Lucifer on the day they all began that unending fall from grace. Yes, it was starting to come back to him.

“But…why?” he asked, voice wavering as he looked from one to the other to the other. “Why would you all want to get back into heaven after all this time?”

Lilith shrugged daintily, dark eyes sparkling as she winked. “Oh, you know, the food hadn’t been great in hell.”

“I didn’t…I thought I was the only one. That whole time, I thought I was the only one who still believed in what we had fought for.” Crowley breathed out a laugh but it was short-lived, hollow. The demon swallowed tightly, mind racing as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. He felt dizzy, unable to comprehend the magnitude of three other fallen angels standing in front of him. He had never recognised that same rebellion in another soul in hell, had resigned himself to the belief that he was the only one who had survived the torture, that the others who had fallen beside him had suffered a more sinister fate, that they had forgotten themselves, become truly demonic. He’d been wrong. He’d been so wrong. There had been others trying to escape hell just like he had, rebels amongst the millions. He could have had allies for all of those centuries of unending loneliness. He could have had friends.

“Lucifer,” he breathed, reaching for Lilith’s hand as he searched her eyes for a trace of recognition. “Do you know what happened to them? Do you know where they are?”

She shook her head, looking away. “No. No, we never saw them again, not after that day.”

“That’s why we came back,” Daniel said gently, gaze flicking between Raphael and Crowley as he spoke. “Their dream never died, not even in hell. We knew we couldn’t be the only ones who still believed in a better world.”

“And that’s why we risked it with the Repentance and Rehabilitation debacle.” Samael stepped in then, fingers drumming a rhythm against the wall that left Crowley smiling, despite the seriousness of the conversation. A drummer through and through, even if he didn’t know it. “Gabriel was so caught up in the spectacle of it that he was too stupid to realise he was granting the ones with a score to settle safe passage back into heaven.”

“What did he think was going to happen? Stupid purple-eyed bastard. He always thought he was special, didn’t he? _I’m so busy. Busy, busy Gabriel. I’m late for a meeting with the Almighty. I have so much to do. Somebody please give me attention before I wither away._ ” Lilith gritted her teeth as she rounded off an eerily spot on impression of their common nemesis, eyes narrowing as the room suddenly felt darker and closer than it had a moment before. As quickly as it happened, the lights flickered back to full power and Lily breathed out steadily in a bid to calm herself.

 _They’re a gamble,_ Crowley thought, watching as the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, in battle formation without even realising. There was prickling resentment in every word they spoke about heaven, tightly coiled rage that could explode without warning. _They’re loose cannons, all three of them. What if they lose this for us? But would the four of us stand a chance without them?_

“How did you manage to pass his tests?” Crowley asked, and that’s when it struck him: how was it possible that all three of them, with their vengeance and wildness managed to slip back in without any fanfare? Did they truly manage to trick Gabriel, or had the archangel been too caught up in his plan to humiliate Crowley one final time that the demon had played the part of an accidental distraction?

Daniel rolled his eyes, laughing. “Pleasing heaven has never meant anything more than saying the right words in the right tone of voice. Only an idiot…” He trailed off, looking sheepishly at Crowley before elbowing him gently. “Sorry, pal.”

“Yeah, well…it’s fine,” the demon said hurriedly, shrugging Daniel away. He rounded on them a moment later, felt anger rise up as he thought about all those years alone, all those millennia he had spent thinking he’d been abandoned. It was childish, he knew it. There was no way for even the most observant entity to know every soul in hell but rationality didn’t come into it; the hurt was there, all the same. He thrust an accusing finger at the three of them and they stepped back, as if his words were their own sort of weapon. “Actually, it’s not fine. None of you looked for me? None of you recognised me, thought to tell me I wasn’t alone down there? You three stuck together and left me to rot. You must have remembered me, one of you must have. You don’t know the things I had to do to survive and the three of you…what? Spent six thousand years planning your way back up to heaven?”

“Crowley, we did what we had to do. There’s more than one way to survive in hell. We didn’t all get a new identity and a fresh start.”

Silence, then, as Crowley searched Daniel’s eyes for defiance, a challenge, anything to lend credence to his argument. He didn’t find what he was looking for, found only another soul who had escaped hell despite the odds, who wanted simply to settle the score and right a lifetime of wrongs. And he was right, really, wasn’t he? Crowley looked away, chewed his lip as he listened back to Daniel’s words. He had always believed himself to be the only true survivor of the fall, had often wondered if he was the most hard done by for making it through hell’s torture and emerging on the other side of it, forever changed but with enough of himself in tact to realise what he was: a little bit good, a little bit bad, a little bit broken. But what had really become of the others who had fallen beside him? What had a lifetime in hell, without the relative freedom he had been afforded on Earth, taken from their souls?

Before he could offer an apology, Daniel turned to Raphael and laid a hand on the archangel’s shoulder. “Archangel, you look tired.”

Raphael let out a laboured sigh, as if they were entirely sick of repeating their answer. “I’m just _old_.”

Daniel nodded, sinking down on the arm of the sofa and looking, for a brief moment, infinitely more human than fallen angel. “We thought it would make sense for the seven of us to start with a briefing. We’ll catch you up, you catch us up, you know how it goes. I trust it went smoothly with Michael? No suspicions?”

“None at all.” Raphael shook their head, and a ripple of smiles rose up amongst the newcomers, as if one more puzzle piece had slotted into place.

“Next order of business…” Lilith began, before she was sharply cut off mid-sentence by Aziraphale, who had been standing quietly by but could, apparently, not bear to stay silent for another moment.

“Excuse me, if I may, can we all stop with the reunion chatter, lovely though it is, and actually answer some of the more pertinent questions here? I’ll go first, shall I? What the _hell_ is going on?”

As a collective, the fallen winced at his choice of phrasing and Lilith fixed him with a pointed look, one eyebrow cocked.

“Steady on, there’s no need to bring the underworld into it. We’ve only just got out, thanks.”

***

“Do you think we can trust them?” Aziraphale asked, voice barely more than a whisper as he retreated into the safe cocoon of the duvet. After his outburst they had all thought it wise to let the newcomers settle in, which seemed to involve Remi miracling various foodstuffs to tempt them with, and they had agreed to reconvene in the morning to discuss the next steps, now four had become seven.

“I think so.” Crowley sighed. “I hope so. We do need some muscle on our side, don’t we? Not sure how well I’d fare in armed combat, if I'm honest.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m a highly trained killing machine.”

The demon spat out a sound that was more honk than laugh. “Yes, I would say the phrase _highly trained killing machine_ is the first thing I think of when I’m asked to describe you.”

“Don’t tease, I _am_. They don’t just let anybody guard Eden.”

“Mmm, no, you’re right, angel. I think your signature move will really be a winner when we’re face to face with Gabriel’s army. Just…give them your sword, just give it away, that’ll show them.”

Aziraphale conceded with a laugh, batting Crowley’s shoulder with one hand. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“A little too well. Maybe we can trace all of this back to your winning chat up line.”

The angel nodded sagely. “Yes, I do rather think we might win this war by chatting up Gabriel’s army.”

A moment of pause, and then both angel and demon were giggling beneath the duvet as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

“See, _this_ is why they don’t let us in on the battle plans.”

“Mmm, probably a smart idea,” Aziraphale whispered, pausing so he could attempt to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation happening in the living room. They could hear the strains of five voices locked in a fierce back and forth but nothing concrete enough to make out. For all they knew it could have been a plan for how to defeat Gabriel at the end of the world or a debate about whether mini cheddars were better than hula hoops in the definitive celestial ranking of crisps and associated savoury snacks. “Do you think the three of them are…okay?”

“About as okay as you can be after a lifetime of servitude in the underworld. I don’t know, angel, are any of us okay really?”

Aziraphale let out a small _hmm_ that seemed to agree with Crowley’s point before he changed the subject. “What stories they must have. Dominion over hell’s armies.”

“Low-level dominion, Aziraphale, let’s not get carried away. They trained new recruits. And by _trained_ it means they probably tortured them until they agreed to serve the dark lord, only the dark lord, and nobody but the dark lord.”

“Still,” Aziraphale continued, apparently unperturbed by Crowley’s sarcasm, “if that’s the case then it’s all the better for us that they’re on our side, isn’t it? They’re fearsome, aren’t they?”

Crowley closed his eyes, scolding himself for the small flame of jealousy that flickered whenever Aziraphale doled out another compliment aimed at the newcomers. Perhaps he was just tired, or perhaps he was strangely threatened by the arrival of three other fallen angels, as if his USP had sudden become a lot less unique. It was silly, he knew that, but there was something about the cold detachment of the fallen angels that left him uneasy, as if he was seeing his own worst features amplified in a mirror image.

“They didn’t know, Crowley. I’m sure they didn’t know you were there too,” Aziraphale said gently a moment later, reaching for Crowley’s hand beneath the sheets. He gave it three soft squeezes, leaned in to press a kiss to the demon’s jaw. “They probably thought they were just as alone as you did. That’s how places like heaven and hell thrive. They make sure everybody feels alone, as if you can’t trust another soul. It’s the easiest way to exert control, isn’t it, to sow seeds of distrust until everybody is too busy fighting each other to see the bigger picture?”

“You’re right, angel. I know you are. I just can’t help wondering how different things might have been if I’d known.”

“You can’t torture yourself with wondering, my love. Whatever has happened has happened, the only thing we have any control over is the future and that’s what we’re fighting for. Not the past.”

The demon opened his mouth to speak again but Aziraphale silenced him with a kiss. Then another, and another, until suddenly Crowley’s mind was filled with nothing but the need to feel the angel’s skin against his own. Aziraphale let out a low moan as Crowley’s nails sunk into the soft skin of his chest, and then there was only the sound of deafening silence from the living room, as their newest flatmates fell silent in shock at overhearing the sound.

“Never mind,” Crowley hissed, flopping back onto his own side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling, fists clenched in frustration. “Turns out the end of days is a giant ruddy cockblock none of us saw coming.”

Aziraphale snuggled into his pillow, voice wavering as he fought back laughter. “And that, my dear, is precisely why we should have got a bigger place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gooooood morning/afternoon/evening friends and happy Wednesday! I hope you've all had a lovely week and enjoyed the chapter. I'll be back next week with chapter fourteen, which is the only chapter left that focuses solely on the New World, so time to head back to the bookshop for Z. Fell and Co.'s grand re-opening!
> 
> You might have noticed I've updated the final chapter count now I've firmed up the remaining chapters in my plan, so we have seven to go! I'm working on chapter sixteen at the moment and it's so mad that there are only four left to write after that one. How are we so near the end? 😱
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all well and I'll be hanging out in the comments throughout the week to catch up with you all. Lots of love, as always <3


	14. Feeling Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I tried to remember what my wise words were last time I opened the shop but…lost to the winds of time, I suppose.”

**Z. Fell and Co., Soho. The New World.**

Zira had thought the pale blue ribbon was a little much, that it might make him look foolish, arrogant even. Anthony had waved away his concerns distractedly, busying himself with crafting a perfect voluminous bow as he draped the ribbon across the shop doorway. It _did_ look rather snazzy by the time he was finished and Zira admitted as much, until they realised Anthony had tied the ribbon while they were on the wrong side of it, and so a spontaneous limbo competition had ensued, with Anthony reigning supreme as a rather predictable winner.

“Well, of course you would win. All bendy and limby, I didn’t stand a chance, did I?” Zira gestured first to Anthony’s rakish physique and then his own, which was all together less, well, bendy and limby.

For a moment the two of them stood silently on the shop floor, relishing the peaceful escape in the middle of what had been a very hectic morning indeed. The shop’s grand reopening was due to begin in a matter of hours and there was a lot to do. More than a lot. An impossible amount, really, but with all hands on deck the daunting feat seemed a lot more attainable. It was an alien feeling, finding safety in numbers instead of fear, but the more Zira trusted the notion the more he grew to like it.

Still, a little bit of solitude was welcome once in a while.

“Nervous?” Anthony asked, arms snaking around the bookseller’s neck to draw him closer.

“Mmm, a little. A lot. I’ve made so many changes, what if people don’t like them?” Zira gestured around the room at the stacked shelves, groaning with carefully sourced titles ready to find their way into the hands of eager shoppers.

Anthony looked across at the gleaming marble pillars, the dark floorboards, perfectly aged wooden tables that displayed some of the shop’s most impressive finds. He smiled fondly, wondered if anybody but Zira himself could name a single difference between the shop’s two iterations. Perhaps he was being unfair, he thought, Zira _had_ agreed to put an extra window in to let in a bit more light, so there was a slight difference in that customers could actually make out the titles of the books they were browsing. And there were the new stools, of course. Two changes in one go? For somebody as steadfast as Zira it was akin to transforming the shop into a glass cube suspended thirty feet above the pavement.

“Everybody’s going to love it,” Anthony promised, pressing a kiss to the bookseller’s white blond curls as he pulled him into a reassuring hug. “Look at this place, six months ago it was nothing but a pile of ashes.”

“Yes, a true phoenix.” The bookseller rolled his eyes, though he treated himself to a little self-congratulatory smile as he rested his chin on Anthony’s shoulder.

It was true, the shop _had_ been nothing but smoke and chaos and there it stood proudly around them, bright and beautiful and ready to send a thousand stories out into the wild, to inspire joyful laughter, or sorrow, or thoughts of lost loves and precious friendships. He was responsible for that rebirth, and though a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile was his only outward celebration, Zira felt a swell of pride as he looked around at the culmination of his hard work, dedication, and love for the dusty little bookshop he called home.

It had been a family affair, planning for the grand reopening. Initially Zira had decided to keep it simple: just a small guest list of loyal customers and fellow booksellers, some wine, canapés, and a chance to quietly browse the new collection. Then Luci and Lily appointed themselves chairs of the Z. Fell and Co. Reopening Gala committee, and suddenly wine was replaced by a champagne fountain, canapés were replaced by a sushi booth where guests could watch their orders being prepared in front of their eyes, and the small guest list was replaced by a _one and all_ policy…which had prompted Zira to descend into a minor meltdown and nearly scrap the whole idea, and so the introvert’s dream of a guest list, wine and canapés were swiftly ushered back in, and Luci and Lily’s grand plans were politely shown the door.

Unperturbed by Zira snubbing their party planning hijinks, the pair had collaborated on beautiful literary-inspired art pieces that had been installed around the shop, cross-sectioning the shop floor into little nooks where private conversations and peaceful book browsing could take place. The Shadwells (well, Tracy, assisted by a rather reluctant sous chef) had produced an inordinate amount of delicious-looking miniature cakes that were perched on pretty marbled cake stands, while Sammy had been granted the highest honour of curating a mood-setting but unobtrusive playlist for the evening. The postman had taken his once in a lifetime role extremely seriously, knowing in all likelihood it was the only time he would ever wrestle the aux cable out of Lily’s iron-fisted grasp. _Zira’s Grand Reopening_ had been the title of the first playlist that had been circulated amongst the group for their feedback, followed by _Zira’s Grand Reopening: The Sequel, Zira’s Grand Reopening Rides Again, Zira’s Grand Reopening: Electric Boogaloo,_ and, finally, _Zira’s Grand Reopening: Tokyo Drift,_ which had been granted approval, if only because nobody had the wherewithal for another iteration of the same playlist rearranged slightly in case the _vibe was off_.

“Hi chaps, ready for Zira’s big opening?” Lloyd’s cheery greeting singsonged from the doorway, as he swung the door closed behind him and shrugged out of his coat. He was dressed in a stylish slim cut suit with a powder blue cravat providing a flourish that was decidedly on brand.

Zira nodded in approval. “Well, don’t you look dapper? But can you _please_ stop referring to tonight as my big… _opening_?”

“Sorry, right you are.” Lloyd held up his hands in solemn admonishment. “Zira’s big _re-_ opening, my mistake.”

While Anthony swallowed a bubble of laughter, pinching a cake off of the nearest stand and sinking his teeth into the soft buttercream icing, Zira closed his eyes, sighing wearily. It had been a little over a week since Lloyd had joined the team and Zira had begun to realise the worrying reality of a staff of two becoming three: he was suddenly, woefully outnumbered.

***

“Well, I think I should start by thanking you all for coming. I tried to remember what my wise words were last time I opened the shop but…lost to the winds of time, I suppose. I didn’t think to remember it, didn’t think I’d end up opening the same shop twice but there you go. We never really know what fate has in store for us, do we?”

Zira paused, allowing a pre-rehearsed break in his speech for the crowd to laugh. There were a few titters, mostly from Anthony, who was doing a sterling job at pretending he hadn’t heard the speech at least twelve times that day, and Zira gave him a little smile of gratitude. Anthony nodded in encouragement, urging him on and all but mouthing the next few words to get him back on track.

“Yes, as I was saying. Thank you all for coming today and I hope you’ll agree the place looks a little more inviting than it did a few months ago! When I woke up to find the shop going down in flames I rather worried my career as a bookseller might suffer the same fate but with a bit of luck, a lot of hard work, and even more love, well, I'm very proud of the new and improved Z. Fell and Co. and I hope you’ll all find some magic on the shelves. Now, I think that’s quite enough from me, don’t you? There’s nothing else to do but thank you for your support for what hasn’t been the easiest time of my career, and now let’s get this infernal ribbon cut so you can all eat some cake and buy some books because those mahogany shelves didn’t come cheap, I can assure you.”

There was only time for a hearty round of applause, a satisfying snip of a weighty pair of scissors slicing through the ribbon, and then Z. Fell and Co. was alive and well once more, standing proudly on the corner of Greek Street despite heaven and hell’s best efforts.

***

“ _Barnaby_ ,” Anthony hissed, patting the side of his thigh frantically as if the command had ever worked in the past. The big black dog looked back at him, cocked his head to the side for a moment, and then merrily continued weaving between groups of guests as he pursued his new best friend, Nigel, the jolly old golden retriever who belonged to Mick’s friend from the allotment, Gloria.

Nigel, who had never visited the bookshop before, was thoroughly overjoyed to be there and had spent the evening forming a winning double act with Barnaby. They had realised quickly that two heads were better than one when it came to earning treats, and the two of them had been performing laps of the shop floor for the past hour, pausing in front of each group of guests and sitting like veritable angels until they were given a treat for exemplary behaviour. Barnaby had even put aside his disdain for strangers for the time being, provided the treats remained in regular supply.

While changes to the new and slightly-improved Z. Fell and Co. were scant, one of the bigger steps Zira had taken was to display a ‘Dogs Welcome’ sign in the window, bordered by a happy trail of paw prints just to reinforce the bookseller’s point. A water bowl had been installed in the doorway, and a glass urn of treats stood proudly on the cash desk, something Barnaby and Nigel had been working to their advantage since the doors to the bookshop had been thrown open and the guests had taken their first steps inside.

The bookshop was buzzing and Zira was undoubtedly the man of the hour. He had been pulled to and fro from group to group and, to his surprise, was only too happy to bask in the limelight. The last time the shop had hosted an event, Tracy’s Astrology Rising event that had both frightened and secretly delighted him, he had retreated to the back room of the shop for a moment of peaceful solitude at every available opportunity. That evening, though, he looked around the shop and saw only friends and family, only smiling faces who looked him in the eye as they congratulated him and really meant it.

Selling hadn’t been the evening’s main intention, Zira had insisted, wanting instead to focus on word of mouth recommendations, using the launch event as a springboard to get people talking and spread the word that Z. Fell and Co. was back and open for business. With that thought in mind, the bookseller was pleasantly surprised, and a little taken aback, to find a queue snaking around the shop as guests waited for their newest purchases to be rung up. The event had transformed a gentle dip of the toes into shop life into a baptism of fire for poor Lloyd, who had barely left the cash desk since the moment the doors had opened. He had gotten to grips with that mystifyingly technical till far faster than Zira could have imagined, scanning books, accepting cash and indulging in literary-focused smalltalk with customers until near enough every cluster of people on the shop floor had a cream Z. Fell and Co. tote bag hooked over one shoulder.

Trialling his idea to transform the back room of the shop into a coffee-shop-meets-book-nook, Zira had draped soft blankets over the new wing-backed armchairs, lighting the room with diffused lamp light and setting up a DIY hot chocolate table to give guests a quiet area to escape to if they couldn’t wait to get home before diving into their new book. The back room, which guests had dubbed _The Snug_ had been met with rapturous approval, and Anthony had twice had to nip upstairs to the stock room to grab supplies to refill the obligatory bowl of marshmallows that stood next to the kettle.

The night was, as far as Zira was concerned, an unadulterated success. There was just one thing left to do on his list, and he didn’t intend to waste any more time.

“Oops, didn’t see you there, Raphael.” Zira held out his hands in apology as the toe of his shoe scuffed against Raphael’s shoulder. The man had taken on the role of designated photographer of the evening and was taking his duties extremely seriously, particularly when it came to official pet portraits of Barnaby and Nigel doing what they did best: being very good boys.

“Not a problem, my dear boy,” Raphael boomed back, pausing to adjust the focus on his camera. He looked up from his crouched position on the floor, waving a treat above the camera and snapping a picture just as both dogs looked at him pleadingly. “Wonderful night, Zira, you’ve done such a fantastic job, really.”

“Can I borrow you for a minute?” Zira asked, sidling up to Anthony and bringing a hand to his waist.

“Oh, the marshmallows haven’t run out again, have they?” Anthony sighed, tugging at his hair in frustration as he followed Zira across the shop floor. “We really should have charged for the hot chocolate bar, would have made a fortune. You wouldn’t have needed to sell a single book.”

Zira nodded over to the cash desk, where a steady stream of guests were still queued up waiting to pay. “About that, we’re selling rather more than I thought we would. Do you mind giving Lloyd a breather for a moment?”

Anthony eyed the champagne fountain, looking back at Zira in desperation. “Can’t you do it? I was about to get a drink. I’ve been up and down the stairs like the bloody clappers.”

“Well, champagne will do nothing for your hydration levels, my dear, and I have very important business to attend to. I’m about to play cupid. Besides, I still haven’t quite got to grips with the till. Bit techy for me, I’m afraid.”

With the champagne fountain distinctly out of reach, Anthony was left spluttering for an explanation as he watched Zira gesture for Lloyd to follow him. He turned reluctantly towards the first customer, breaking into a smile as he found Mick standing in front of the cash desk.

“Hello, old timer.” He grinned, looking down at the book Mick held in his hands and nodding in approval. “Excellent choice, if I may say so. Very heavy, the paper’s a great weight. You’ll love it.”

Mick laughed, rooting through his pocket in search of his wallet. “I’m sure I will. Pay for a nice bottle of something expensive for the pair of you, won’t it?”

“Appointment still on for Thursday?” Anthony asked, swivelling the chip and pin machine in Mick’s direction and politely looking away.

“Couldn't come a day too soon, the stitches are driving me mad. So _itchy_.”

Voice light enough to avoid arousing suspicion until it was too late, Anthony ducked down to retrieve a tote bag from beneath the counter. “Sure you still want me to take you? I thought perhaps Gloria might want to…”

There was only the sound of a laboured sigh as Anthony straightened up and caught sight of Mick rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard them all from Lily, before you start.”

“I’m just saying, you two have spent an awful lot of time together of late, that’s all. Near death experience, seizing the day, it all makes sense. Now, if you really want to win her over make sure you get on Nigel’s good side. If her dog doesn’t like you it’s over before it’s had a chance to start. That was one of the first things that drew me to Zira, you know? Barnaby bounded up to him like they were old friends, strangest thing.” He handed Mick the tote bag, smiling his best customer service smile as Mick shook his head in mock-frustration and absconded before he could fall prey to any more good-natured ribbing. “Just something to think about! Who’s next?”

As a smiling older lady stepped forward who Anthony was sure he’d briefly been introduced to at Raphael and Luci’s party, he glanced across to see Mick standing next to Gloria, tossing treats to Nigel with reckless abandon. Gloria laughed, sliding her arm through the crook of Mick’s elbow. As Anthony looked back to serve the next customer he couldn’t help but smile victoriously. Mission accomplished.

On the far side of the room, Zira was about to begin his own mission.

“Well, I’d say things are off to a flying start,” Lloyd said, as he followed Zira across the crowded shop floor. “We’re already running low on bags.”

“Oh, well, that’s wonderful, Lloyd!” Zira nodded encouragingly, eyes trained on his target, who was on the far side of the room gum-deep in a miniature Victoria sandwich. “Now, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done tonight. Really great work, thank you. We’ll be wrapping up soon so why don’t you just enjoy yourself for the rest of the night? There must be a few faces here you recognise, the bookselling world as small as it is.”

“Mmm.” Lloyd laughed, raising his eyebrows as he took in the couple of familiar faces in the crowd. “I think that was always the problem. I never quite ran in the same circles as Henry and his…”

“Elitist cronies?” Zira finished, batting his eyelashes helpfully.

There was a flash of shock on Lloyd’s face, then the blond man dissolved into laughter, nodding his head passionately. “You’re not wrong, Zira, you’re not wrong.”

“Come on, let me introduce you to some friends you might find more…palatable.” Zira turned his attention to Sammy then, waving at the postman until he looked up, his smile transforming into a startled grimace as he caught sight of Lloyd. “Lloyd, this is my dear friend, Sammy. Sammy, this is Lloyd, the newest member of the team.”

“Hello,” said Sammy, staring slightly past Lloyd as if looking directly at him was too much for his nerves.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Lloyd extended a hand, looking from Sammy to Zira as if he’d missed the reason for their introduction. “Are you a seller, or…?”

“Postman,” came the abrupt reply, followed by silence that was all together mystifying, given the sheer volume of background noise in the room.

After a full fifteen seconds of silence and a cycle of contorted facial expressions that signalled Sammy may well have gay panicked himself into another realm, Zira patted them both reassuringly on the shoulder in a way that was certainly not reassuring.

“Oh, er, Sammy was in charge of the music this evening,” Zira screeched, as if that might just be the golden ticket.

At the mention of music, Lloyd visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping as his look of confusion was replaced with something softer, as if he’d fallen into the middle of a very welcome comfort zone. He took a step closer to Sammy, smile brightening as he reached for a glass of wine from a nearby drinks tray. “Oh, wonderful. I was saying to Anthony earlier how much it set the evening off perfectly. That solo cello piece? Beautiful. I was actually lucky enough to see…”

Zira took that moment to slip away, content in the knowledge that he had just orchestrated what he was sure would be a pivotal moment in the sweet postman’s life. He was like some sort of angel of love, Zira thought, giving himself a metaphorical pat on the back as he walked away to see how Anthony was surviving on the till.

***

“We did it!” Zira cried, flinging his arms and legs back and forth as he carved out the perfect glitter angel pattern in the drifts of sequins and confetti that littered the shop floor, courtesy of the hundreds of glitter cannons Luci and Lily had snuck in ahead of time. As the night had drawn to a close, the guests had formed a circle around Zira and fired them into the air one by one, leaving the bookseller cackling with pure joy as confetti had cascaded down around him.

They had locked the doors to the shop an hour previously, basking in the ringing silence for a moment before turning their attention to clearing up the carnage left behind. That had lasted for all of five minutes, before they’d spotted a tray of champagne flutes left untouched and had decided it would be rude not to.

And so they had clambered down onto the floor to lay with their arms and legs outstretched, creating glitter angels in the debris as they laughed until they were dizzy with it.

“You did it,” Anthony corrected him, reaching out to rest a hand on the bookseller’s chest.

Zira caught his hand, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles before shaking his head. “No, _we_ did it.”

They lay like that for a moment, quietly hand in hand, staring up at the ceiling of the place they had rebuilt from nothing, brick by brick, until it stood stronger than it ever had.

“What a life,” Zira said, laughing, throwing a handful of glitter up in the air and letting it rain down on Barnaby’s back. The big dog was nestled between them, his paws tucked away under Anthony’s neck. Despite the chaos around him, he had fallen merrily to sleep after the excitement of the evening and fully intended on snoozing straight through on the shop floor until it was time for his morning walk.

“Yeah.” Anthony let his head fall to the side, smiling as he watched Zira beaming with such unfettered happiness it left him feeling oddly tearful. He felt serene, as if that shadow that had long lurked in the corners of his mind had burned away without a trace. _Be still,_ the moment seemed to say, _be calm. This is it now, this is your life. Just this, just him, just happiness._ “What a life, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! How are you all doing? I hope you're all well and to my US friends, I hope those of you in the south are doing okay with the extreme weather. Stay safe and warm and I hope it hasn't been too rough on you all <3.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed today's chapter, which was so much fun to write :D. I want to let you know that from this week onwards I'm going to be publishing chapters fortnightly for the foreseeable future to give me time to execute the ending the way I'm hoping to. I've got four chapters left to write but I want a bit of breathing room to nail them as best I can, so for now I'll be posting every other Wednesday instead of every week.
> 
> If the below changes I will let you know but for now this is my planned schedule for the rest of the chapters:
> 
> March 3rd: Chapter 15  
> March 17th: Chapter 16  
> March 31st: Chapter 17  
> April 14th: Chapter 18  
> April 28th: Chapter 19  
> May 5th: Chapter 20 (the finale!)
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely, funny, encouraging comments every week, they make my day every time and I'm so happy you're still enjoying this as we head into the final few chapters!
> 
> Lots of love <3


	15. Talking About a Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell us, what are these human counterparts like?”

**The Love Nest, London. Earth.**

“If I’m honest we hadn’t thought as far as what would happen if one of us didn’t make it back.”

Lilith nodded, picking a speck of dirt from underneath her fingernails. “It wasn’t an option. All or nothing.”

They were an odd trio upon first glance, as mismatched as three fallen angels could be: Daniel, tall and imposing, looking down on near enough everybody in his vicinity; Lilith, sharp-eyed and assertive, prickling with energy as if every interaction could turn at any moment; Samael, broad-shouldered and immovable, all the stubbornness and resolve of a bull.

At first it didn’t make sense, three fallen angels with an unshakeable bond. Hell had a tendency to sever loyalty, where solitude lent itself to survival, and yet these three appeared as close as their human counterparts, playful teasing giving way to snippets of platonic devotion as the moment called for it. Perhaps that conversation more than any other called for a reminder of just how far they would go to stay by each other’s side.

Crowley and Aziraphale had listened, rapt, as the fallen had recounted their early years in hell, how they had been earmarked for a place in hell’s armies, the way they had kept their heads down, their noses clean and risen slowly through the ranks, using everything from cunning to cutthroat violence to get where they needed to be. For a time, for a long time, they had believed they were the only three to survive the fall, had pledged to bring Gabriel to justice in the name of every rebel who had stood beside them that day in heaven when the lights went out. It had been a chance encounter that led to the realisation that perhaps they weren’t the sole survivors of Gabriel’s exile, a moment as simple as Samael brushing past Crowley in the dingy corridors of hell’s basement.

As the fallen angel described the tremor of shock he had felt as Crowley’s familiar face rounded the corner ahead of him, Crowley shook his head in disbelief, gripping his mug of tea so tightly it was in danger of rupturing in his palm. “And you didn’t think to speak to me? You didn’t think to give me a cheery wave, to fill me in, to let me know the three of you were _plotting_? I would have plotted. I love plotting!”

“And what if we had?” Daniel asked, eyebrow quirked as he watched Crowley take a gulp of tea in a vain effort to calm himself. “What if we’d told you everything? Would you have done the same? Would you have told us about Aziraphale?”

Crowley opened his mouth to fire back a barbed retort, promptly closed it when he realised it was a fair point. Of course he wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have spoken a word, would have been utterly convinced it was a trap, that they were working with hell to catch him out, or, even worse, that they were working with heaven to catch Aziraphale out.

“Hell wouldn’t be hell if we could trust each other down there,” Daniel said with a shrug, as if he considered the matter well and truly closed. Crowley had brought it up more than once since their arrival, still reeling from the revelation that three other fallen angels had been within reach for that long lonely existence in hell. Daniel went to continue his point, then closed his eyes and abruptly changed course. “Aziraphale, _please_ stop staring at me.”

The angel jumped, smiling ruefully as he realised he’d been rumbled. “Sorry, old chap, I can’t help myself. It’s just…you all look _just_ like them.”

“Yes, well, forgive me if I’m a bit rusty on the old scripture but isn’t that the point of _made in one’s image_?”

“Close enough,” Aziraphale said after a beat, deciding the accuracy of the statement was near enough, if not spot on. Ordinarily he would have politely-and-not-at-all-annoyingly corrected the statement with a cheerful grin but, well, the fallen terrified him somewhat and so he decided not to push the matter.

“Tell us, Principality Aziraphale, why _did_ you choose us as your inspiration?” Lilith’s voice was near enough a purr, so velvety soft it was almost soothing, if it wasn’t for the bite that lingered just beneath the surface.

Aziraphale sighed, gaze fixed on a small chip on the the edge of the coffee table. He tutted to himself. Well, that wouldn’t do, he’d have to fix it when he had a spare moment. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the conversation at hand with a confession of such startling honesty it left even Crowley looking at him in surprise. “I’m not sure any of you understand the impact that the fall had on heaven. Everything changed in that moment. It was like our very souls had been severed, as though we’d lost a part of ourselves. We never got back what we’d lost. We healed, of course, as all wounds will. There was always a scar, though, a reminder of what happened that day.

“I watched you fall, all of you. I was there in the crowd as Gabriel punished you for, well…dreaming, hoping, wanting to create something better. I never thought of heaven as home again after that day. It was never safe, not for any of us. The walls got higher, the shadows crept in. I think, oh, I don’t know…I think your faces must have come back to me in that moment between worlds because I wanted to believe in a place where things were different, a world where none of you had ever fallen, somewhere that could still be home for us. All of us. It’s silly, I know, but-”

“It’s not.” Samael’s voice was soft but insistent, shaking his head as he gave Aziraphale a small smile of solidarity. Soon enough the moment had passed and his expression was replaced with a troublesome grin. “Tell us, what are these human counterparts like?”

“Oh, irritating, annoying, infuriating.” Crowley laughed, shifting closer to Aziraphale and curling his fingers around the angel’s knee, giving it a little squeeze of affection. “And very lovable.”

Aziraphale nodded, waggling a finger between Lilith and Samael. “You two fight like twins bickering over who was born first. It’s a power struggle. Constantly. Lilith, I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that you always seem to win.”

From his position, perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the dining room chairs as if sitting down was a luxury he hadn’t been afforded for some time, Daniel chuckled to himself. “Well, that sounds about right.”

Then it was Crowley’s turn, as he swivelled to point at Daniel. “And _you_ , you are happily married to a very beautiful woman who’s an absolute hoot, she’s a keeper. You have a little girl, she always grabs my finger. It’s weird…but cute.”

“A child?” Daniel shifted forward, suddenly interested. “In your new world I have a family?”

“Mmmhmm.” Crowley nodded, felt excitement building as he launched into an explanation of how their human counterparts had created lives for themselves in the new world.

He knew how he had felt as he watched Anthony go about his day, working and celebrating with friends, walking with his dog in the park, enjoying the fresh air and the sun on his skin in a place where the biggest decision he had to make all day was what to eat for dinner or whether or not it was too soon to call Zira back. It had felt like letting go of a deep knot of anxiety, getting to see a version of himself enjoy such a simple existence. Humans might consider it mundane: a life where you worked and earned, loved and lost, lived the best life you could and then, when it was your time to go, left a legacy of goodness behind you. To an angel, fallen or otherwise, it looked like a dream. Getting to be the one who relayed that glimpse of paradise to another was a privilege Crowley hadn’t realised he was waiting for.

“…You’re happy, all of you. You found family in each other, and in us.” The demon finished speaking, let the weight of all that he had told them sink in. It was a lot to comprehend, he knew that firsthand. And then, a moment later, he spoke again, his fingers finding their way to Aziraphale’s. “You’re right, angel, you did create a place where we could see how different things might have been. It’s like watching ourselves if we’d been destined for another path.”

“If the deck had fallen differently.” Aziraphale looked down, found himself thinking of the Almighty for the first time in a long while. She had always been fond of the terminology. The older he grew, the more he understood why.

The mood in the room had slipped from animated to sombre, as the five celestial entities fell into contemplative silence. While Daniel wondered if his human counterpart spent every waking moment grateful for the hand he had been dealt, Lilith found herself dreaming what it might be like to come home at the end of the day to a house full of purring cats, soft bodies winding around her legs, demanding food and attention. _It might be nice_ , she thought, _to be depended on like that_. _I wonder if I’m content_ , she mused, decided a moment later that she probably was, realised she was startlingly happy for this human counterpart that she had never met. _At least one of us knows peace._ Meanwhile, Samael watched the other two in their rumination, wondered huffily why he’d been dealt the short straw even in another life. _A twice divorced postman, of course_. Still, he decided, all that time in the open air must be nice. A chance to walk at his own pace instead of always running.

“Well,” Crowley said finally, breaking the silence before they could slip too far into their daydreams. As he had been reminded so many times, it didn’t do to dwell on what ifs. “You’ve heard all about what we got up to after the R+R, isn’t about time we heard your side of things?”

“Oh, well, as I’m sure you can imagine we were welcomed back like heroes.” Lilith widened her eyes for effect, lips pursed as she remembered the prickle of unease she’d felt in the wake of Crowley and Aziraphale’s unthinkable disappearance before Gabriel’s eyes. There had been only silence and darkness, and then Gabriel had resumed proceedings as if nothing had happened. He had granted one last place in heaven and then, as if something had detonated deep within his soul, had screamed at every angel to get out, sending the demons yet to stand trial back to hell before they even had the opportunity to plead their case. “Thanks for the dramatic exit, by the way. Put Gabriel in an even better mood.”

Aziraphale winced. He’d been on the receiving end of Gabriel’s stormy moods enough times that the mere thought he could have inflicted that on another sent a pang of guilt rippling through his chest. He reached out for Lilith’s hand. To his surprise, she let him take it. “I am so sorry, my friends. We didn’t think.”

Samael shook his head. “No, no. No apologies for what you did. What else could you have done? When we saw you both just…quit like that, that’s when we knew that there was some hope here. We weren’t sure how we were supposed to find you after, well, you poofed into nothingness in the rapture but that’s where Remi came in.”

Voice rising with excitement, Lilith picked the story back up as Crowley and Aziraphale listened, rapt, to the tale of how the three fallen angels came to join the rebellion. “We were near enough ready to storm Gabriel’s office in plain sight to finish this there and then, but then little Remi came sidling up to me in the corridor one day asking if I fancied a biscuit, all cloak and dagger. I stared him down, a death stare from a fallen angel had been doing the trick up until that point, but he stared back, cool as anything. Eventually I looked away, not my finest moment, and he told me he must have made a mistake. I didn’t know what he’d mistaken me for but I was insulted nonetheless, I’ll tell you that for free. So I did what any self-respecting fallen angel from the pits of hell would do: I followed him. Every time I got wind of that skinny little blighter I followed him. All he did for months was go to and fro from office to office, delivering messages, opening doors, smiling serenely, laughing at Michael’s jokes. None of them noticed him. They handed him their paperwork, muttered a reply to his happy little hellos, sent him on his way to fetch latecomers when Gabriel grew impatient of waiting for meetings to start, but it was as if he was nobody at all. I don’t think a single one of the archangels could have told you his name. Except, I realised, for Raphael. They were leaving a meeting one day, handed Remi a scroll to deliver to another office, and that’s what tipped me off. They thanked him by name. It was the first time I’d even heard what his name was. Whatever Remi was up to, we knew he couldn’t be working alone.”

“So,” Daniel jumped in, taking over from Lilith for the next part of the story. “That’s when we decided to go straight to the source. Besides, it made sense, didn’t it, that Raphael would pick up where…well, of course it would be Raphael.”

“At first we thought, we _hoped_ , that perhaps the two of them knew where Lucifer was. That was what we thought they were hiding,” Lilith continued, pausing for a moment to dwell on what might have been. “Anyway, I don’t think Raphael was best pleased when we barrelled into their office to find out what was going on, looking to find out how things had progressed since our original efforts were nipped in the bud.”

Samael laughed fondly, recalling the moment Raphael’s eyes had widened at the sight of the three of them gathered around their desk, inky black wings held proudly above their heads. “Thought we’d come back to get revenge on _them_ , didn’t they?”

Behind his hand, Aziraphale tittered, thinking of what a sight it must have been: steadfast Raphael sent into a panic by three warriors that were only there to join the rebellion and scoff a few biscuits along the way.

“And now here we are, together again all of these years, just in time for the end.” Crowley looked around the circle from over the rim of his mug, wondered how it would feel in the moments before the end, standing side by side once again with the angels he had fallen with.

“That’s where I’m confused,” said Daniel. “If you were hidden in your new world, if you were safe then why did you come back? Why didn’t you just stay until and wait for the end to pass?”

“We wanted to make sure he was dead,” Crowley fired back, just as Aziraphale launched into a much longer-winded explanation.

“ _I_ said the same thing, Daniel. Stay hidden, wait for heaven and hell to destroy themselves, no offence, and then everything would be tickedy boo. The only problem is the new world still has a link to Earth. We’re not sure where it comes from, we think perhaps it comes from the two of us being bound of heaven and hell. We thought that after the end we might be free, only things started happening in the new world…an overflow from the Tribulation here on Earth. Our friends started to forget things, places started to disappear, it was as if Earth was taking parts of our world back as it tried to survive just a little while longer.”

Daniel nodded, remembered the bubble of excitement in Remi’s voice when he had told them they’d finally found the runaway angel and demon they’d been searching for for so long. “And what next? What will you do after the end?”

“We’ll go back,” Aziraphale said firmly, reaching for Crowley’s hand as the demon nodded in agreement. “We’ll go back home.”

“And, hopefully, we won’t be alone.” Crowley swallowed, lowering his voice as if there might be a shadow lurking outside, listening in. “We’re going to find Lucifer. Before the end, we’re going to find them. I know it sounds impossible but we won’t leave without them. Raphael, too, if we can change their mind. We’re going to have a lot on our plate, you know, lots to build, plenty of dreaming to do, we’ll need some extra pairs of hands. If you know three fallen angels who might want a second chance…”

Samael raised his eyebrows, thought of the sky and the stars he had seen through heaven’s windows, wondered what he might have been able to create if given the chance. “Well, we had scheduled in going down in a blaze of glory after vanquishing our shared nemesis, so…”

“We’ll get back to you.” Lilith smiled, glancing from Samael to Daniel as if her decision hinged on the group’s joint consensus.

Finally, it was Daniel who spoke. “We’ve spent six thousand years thinking about nothing but revenge, I’m not sure any of us considered there might be something else.”

The three fallen looked at each other and, there, in the only safe place left on the dying Earth, they began to smile at the bittersweet maybe of _after_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm back! It's so strange only posting every other week but I've been making great progress on writing the final chapters - I just started chapter 19 on Monday so only two left to write *scream*.
> 
> I hope you're all well and have had a great couple of weeks, what have you been up to? Tell me all your news, I've missed y'all :D. Best food of the last fortnight? You know where my interests lay 😂.
> 
> I'll be back in a fortnight with chapter 16 and, just to confirm, my publishing schedule from now until the end will be:
> 
> March 17th: Chapter 16  
> March 31st: Chapter 17  
> April 14th: Chapter 18  
> April 28th: Chapter 19  
> May 5th: Chapter 20
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day! Lots of love <3


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